The Lion among the Ladies
by Elmethea
Summary: Isabella Petrroci O'Reagan, a talented and pretty Ravenclaw, is pushed to the limit by a revolution in Italy and the rise of Voldemort in England. And what plans does her grandfather have for her? Sequel to The Lion in Winter.
1. Home Again

A/N: All the dialogue in these first few chapters is supposed to be in Italian.

The villa dominated the Italian landscape. Its whitewashed walls rose from the vineyards and shallow, rocky soil. The four walls that surrounded it were capped with sloping, red-tiled peaks. The same tiles adorned the roofs that just peeked over the walls.

Not that the Muggle tourists could see the villa anyway. No, the entire property was surrounded by various charms and enchantments designed to block the land from the Muggles' notice. Tourists coming from or going to Padua conveniently failed to notice the oldest operating villa in existence.

But right now a group of four people stood on the dirt road that lead up to the tall wooden doors set in the fifteen feet high walls. They were almost all dark, with olive-toned skin, the darkest brown hair (which would have looked black save that the sun was shining full force on them), and black eyes. The odd one out was a pale skinned man with golden-brown hair and warm hazel eyes. He had a large, tattered suitcase propped against his legs. The others, a woman, a girl, and a young man, all were carrying their baggage. The young man, who was handsome in a roguish way, was dragging a large scarlet trunk. The girl, who was small and very pretty, was handling a whicker hamper and a large cage.

They looked relatively normal. They wore normal clothes, with normal hairstyles, and fairly normal luggage. It was the creature in the bird cage (a bottle green, vulture-like bird) that showed them for what they truly were: wizards. And not just any wizards, but members of the oldest, purest, and most accomplished wizarding family in Italy: the Petrrocis. The villa, of course, was the Villa Petrroci.

"Come on, I can't stand out here in this heat much longer," the man complained, mopping his brow with his shirt sleeve. His eyes were framed by laugh lines and his mouth had a tendency to curve upward.

The four of them scrambled with the bags and began to move up the dirt road. It had been a dry summer thus far and the dust billowed out behind them. Something in the hamper the girl was carrying squalled.

"Just a little longer, Portia," the girl assured the cat-like creature inside, who ruffled its leopard-spotted fur and grumbled to itself. The green bird opened its mouth as though to agree, but no sound same forth. It was an augury, the bird infamous for its wailing cry whenever rain was coming, and the only way to keep one for a pet was to put a Silencing Charm on it.

"How does it feel to be home?" the young man asked, sweating a little as he lugged the trunk up to the doors.

"Fantastic," the woman, a stunningly beautiful creature, said warmly. It was clear that the girl was her daughter, as they shared the same attractive features.

"Well then, Aunt Antonia, Uncle Patrick, and my dearest little cousin," the young man smiled widely, pushing open the tall oak doors. "Welcome home."

There was a courtyard inside, just shadowed over by the setting sun. A band of children wearing bright colors frolicked inside, chasing red chickens who clucked and chittered and flew before the children's outstretched arms.

Across the yard rose the house, grand and imposing. A white marble staircase led to the archway that served as the main entrance to the house. The house itself rose above them in a series of balconies and arched windows topped with a red, peaked roof. A tabby cat watched the chickens hungrily from one of these windows, until a pair of hands grabbed the feline and pulled it, yowling, back inside.

The mews was just visible behind the stables, where several winged horses stomped their hooves and munched on their oats. The kitchen door, which was always thrown wide open, lay off to the left of the grand staircase.

A woman with white hair and a lined face flew down the staircase now, her great age no hinderance to the movement. She threw her arms into the air and shooed the children from her path.

"Antonia!" She boomed, reaching the newcomers and embracing the woman. "You look so unhealthy. England does not agree with you. Ah, my beautiful Bella, you are too pale. Does the sun never come out in _that_ country? And... oh. It's you." The woman crossed her thin arms over her chest and surveyed the man.

"Yes, it's me," he said cheerfully, completely unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm. "Kiss for your nephew-in-law?" The older woman snorted and turned from him, enveloping the girl in her embrace. The heavy shawl the woman wore made her grand-niece squirm a little in the heat.

"It's wonderful to see you, Great-Aunt Guilia," the girl told her.

"Oh, my Bella," the woman chuckled. "So polite! And with such good manners. You're mother taught you very well. I suppose it is dreadful being in England, where they are all barbarians." Great-Aunt Guilia was still in the mind-set of a Roman. She believed Italy was the only civilized country, the Greeks were the only good tutors, and everyone else was a barbarian.

"Well, come inside, come inside!" she urged them all. "Here let me help you with-" But when she tried to take the hamper from Isabella, the creature inside it howled.

"I'm sorry, Great-Aunt!" the girl said, hastily reclaiming the hamper. "Portia doesn't like magical transportation."

"Well, what kind of cat would she be if she did?" the woman said knowingly.

"It's interesting you should ask that, because she's not actually a cat..." the man began, but he fell silent as the woman gave him a poisonous look.

"Did you get my Christmas present?" she demanded out of the blue.

"Yes, it has wonderful illustrations of the poisonous fungi of Finland," he thanked her.

"Hmph," was all she said. Then she turned and led her niece and her husband inside.

"Unc'e Ale!" one of the children screamed, breaking away from the pack. She was a tiny thing, with a bright yellow sundress half-coated in mud. "Aunt Isabella!" The young man, Alessandro, scooped her up and twirled her around. She giggled and patted his cheek.

"Isabella, where had you been?" she said in a serious voice, wagging her finger at the girl when Alessandro stopped spinning.

"I've been at school, little Adalina," Isabella told her yet again. "In England."

"England very bad place. Very bad," Adalina said, clearly trying to sound very grown up. "Grandmother told me so."

"England isn't so bad, little flower," Alessandro told her, tickling her mercilessly. "But you will be if you don't clean up for dinner." With that, the man sent the entire pack of nephews, nieces, and second-cousins scrambling for their baths.

"You'd best get settled in," he told his cousin. "Grandfather wants to see you after dinner."

"How much does he know?" Isabella asked nervously.

"Oh, you know Grandfather," Alessandro winked. "He knows a lot more than he lets on."

AN: Well, here it is. The sequel. I hope you enjoy another year with Isabella!


	2. Stirrings of War

As soon as she reached her room, Isabella released Portia, who shot under the bed, tail bristling with indignation. Then she opened the door to the augury's cage but he sulked in the corner, morose.

"Oh, don't you be mad at me too!" the girl told him. The augury opened his mouth in a silent, plaintive cry. "No, we're not going back to England until summer's over, so you might as well come out now, Castro!" The bird gave yet another silent wail, but this time hopped out and onto her arm.

Isabella always felt guilty about bringing the bird here. He was bred for the wet highlands of Scotland, and hated the hot Italian summers. Plus, poor Castro didn't fit in with the rest of the family's pets. Portia usually found a place among the cats, but the augury was shunned by the Petrrocis' Harris hawks, which they used in preference to owls.

The fifteen-year-old witch bathed, then braided her wet hair back. She selected her clothes carefully, knowing she would have to be presented to her grandfather after supper. Isabella daren't wear black, in case it made her look even more pale and cause Great-Aunt Guilia to make yet another fuss.

There came a timid knock at her door.

"Come in!" the girl called, still wearing her blue bed-robe and staring over the contents of her wardrobe. A young woman with a kind, gentle face entered.

"I though you might need help," Aunt Juliet said. She was Isabella's mother's younger sister and had recently been married ("To an Italian, thank God!" Great-Aunt Guilia had exclaimed).

"Thanks," the girl said gratefully. Aunt Juliet moved to the bed, where most of the clothes had been laid out and looked over them critically.

"Well, nothing too dark, because it'll make you look pale," she mused and Isabella nodded wearily. "And not green, dear. I don't wish to be rude, but it makes you look a little sickly. I think... yellow... and white." She held up a sunflower yellow skirt, a white tank top, and a sheer yellow shirt to wear over it.

"Um, are you wearing your hair like that?" she asked politely. Isabella laughed and allowed her aunt to undo her hair. Aunt Juliet combed through its dark tresses gently.

"Bella," she said after a while. "I'm pregnant." Isabella turned wonderingly and grinned at her aunt with delight.

"That's wonderful!" she congratulated. "But why wasn't I told? Ale never even mentioned..."

"I haven't told Father yet."

"Oh." There was a pause. "But why? I mean, you and Taddeo are married and Grandfather would surely approve..."

"But it's this war, Bella!" Juliet said, and her eyes began to well with tears. "How can I bring a child into the family now? It will just be in danger..."

"Aunt, that's silly! Grandfather will be-"

"Isabella, you haven't been here this year, so listen to me," Juliet said firmly. She began to gently pull Isabella's hair into a low bun. "It hasn't been easy, even in Italy. Father is practically running the Ministry so many people have been transferred, or laid-off, or disappeared. Of course, Father believes that You-Know-Who is back, so every energy is being thrown into protecting our country. Taddeo's been pulling double shifts almost every day." Taddeo, Juliet's husband, was an Auror, or Dark Wizard Catcher.

"Magical protections have to be placed not only on all the wizarding establishments, but also the Muggle ones. Father has spent almost the entire year in his study consulting with various Wizarding and Muggle officials about protecting the Vatican! Valentino has been consulted on how best to save the Coliseum and other historical sights. And, of course, your mother has been tasked to convince those nimwits in the English ministry that You-Know-Who really is back." Isabella was silent as she listened. There had been an article in the English newspaper at the beginning of last year about an argument between her mother and the English Minister of Magic.

"Besides, there are a group of rebels in Southern Italy," her aunt continued. "We call them revoltoso and they are part of the rebellion, The Rivolta."

"Are they like Death Eaters?" Isabella asked quietly.

"No, just people trying to take advantage of a weakened government," Juliet said, her mouth twisting. "But they have very Death Eater-like beliefs. They are like the... how do you say? Like sixty years ago..."

"Socialists?" Isabella inquired, heart sinking.

"Violent socialists," Juliet nodded. "They call themselves Gloria-Creatore, the Glory-Makers. They are the ones everything and everyone needs protection from. So now you see what bringing a baby into all of this means!" Juliet sighed, placing the last hairpin in her niece's hair. "Poor Father has enough to worry about without yet another grandchild. Do you have any idea how many spells have been put on this place? It's been made Unplottable, and has a Fidelius Charm-"

"No!" Isabella gasped.

"Yes! Why do you think Ale had to come and get you?"

"I just thought... he gave a message to Professor Lupin from Grandfather..."

"Ah, yes," Juliet said, giving Isabella a sad, sympathetic smile as she stood in the doorway. "Well, good luck with... you know. All that." Isabella cringed as Juliet closed the door gently behind her. What on earth was she supposed to tell her Grandfather?


	3. The Petrrocis

Dinner was, as always, uproariously loud. Leonardo Petrroci, head of the family, sat at the top of the table, looking supremely calm and serious, as always. Great-Aunt Guilia sat at his side, chattering and being intentionally rude, as always. Antonia, Isabella's mother, was the oldest of Leonardo's children and therefore sat at his right. Isabella's father, Patrick O'Reagan, was a good sport about sitting at her side and taking the brunt of Great-Aunt Guilia's offensive remarks. From him down the table sat all the aunts and uncles.

Uncle Luigi, with his warm smile and deft fingers. Uncle Valentino, discussing his Arithmancy class with Uncle Taddeo. Aunt Juliet, looking pale and worried, sat by her husband and nervously twisted her napkin in her hands. Uncle Valentino's wife, Aunt Marta, was talking animatedly with Aunt Elena. Her husband, Uncle Caesario, was down at the far end of the table, where the children had dragged him and begged him to play magic tricks for them. He was currently animating all of their cutlery to dance around the table for them.

The children were freshly bathed, their dark, sun-soaked skin scrubbed clean by Aunt Elena and Marta. Valentino and Marta had the most children, bright little Adalina and her shy sister Noemi. Their brothers, Paolo and Peppe, were five-year-old twins and reminded Isabella of Fred and George Weasley, who had gone to school with her. Little Tonio, their distant cousin, was just a toddler but he watched Uncle Caesario's tricks with wide eyes. Tonio's sister, Beatrice, sat on her mother Luisa's lap. Isabella's cousin Lorenzo, her husband, sat with her and tickled his youngest child's chin.

Lorenzo had, up until two years ago, sat in the middle of the table with Isabella and his two brothers, Alessandro and Roberto. Then he had met Luisa and gotten married and moved up the table. Roberto had been scandalized and called it an act of treason. Alezzandro had punched Roberto in the nose and calmly taken over their little group.

Their "little group" was called Medio Tabelle (the middle tablers) by their elders. It consisted of Alessandro, Roberto, Isabella, Sergio, Tina, and Rosina. Well, to be fair, Tina and Rosina were hardly part of the Medio Tabelle. They spent most of their time giggling and laughing about the boys they met at school or begging for their mother's brother, Uncle Valentino, to let them go shopping in Padua.

Dinner was loud and crowded, but that's how everyone liked it. Well, not Isabella's father, Patrick O'Reagan. He was an only child and, despite having been married to Isabella's mother for sixteen years, he never could get used to the large Italian family.

But dinner ended all too quickly and Isabella knew what was coming.

"Isabella," Grandfather Leonardo said. As soon as he spoke, everyone in the room fell silent, even little Beatrice. "Would you mind seeing me in my study?" Isabella nodded and stood, putting her napkin on her chair.

"Somebody's in trouble," Sergio sang under his breath. Alessandro kicked him and smiled encouragingly at Isabella. The girl straightened and followed her grandfather from the room. Talking broke out again as soon as she left, but it was more subdued.

Leonardo Petrroci's study was dark and secluded. It had a charm on it that made it soundproof, from both inside and out. Dark wood shelves ran along the walls, holding thick leather bound books on every subject known to man and magic. Isabella had used to sneak in here as a child and read. Grandfather had never minded; in fact, he used to laugh when he found her under his desk. He had taken over her tutelage very early in her life. All Petrroci children began learning magic as soon as they showed any aptitude for it, but they also learned things Muggle children learned, like mathematics and science and Greek.

Now, however, Isabella knew that Grandfather Leo would not smile and pat her on the head and show her a new book on magizoology. Now he would sit at his desk and lean back in his chair and listen.

"You've had quite a year," he started off softly. Isabella, standing on the thick red carpet in front of his desk, nodded. "I think you'd better start at the beginning."

"I'm not sure where the beginning is, sir," she admitted. Grandfather leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye.

"Come, come, Bella," he scolded. "Have I taught you nothing? Where did everything start?" Isabella thought for a moment.

"I suppose it all started with meeting Fred and George Weasley," she decided. Grandfather Leo sat back and nodded.

"Good girl," he praised. "I at least taught you how to tell a story."

And it was quite a story. Isabella stayed in that room for hours, long after the children were put to bed and the adults had retired to their rooms. It had all the elements a story needs, good characters, funny jokes, evil antagonists, with a few fireworks and portable swamps thrown in for good measure. It included secret Defense Against the Dark Arts societies and Quidditch games. It included getting in trouble and first boyfriends (here Grandfather chuckled a little and mercilessly told Isabella she would have to explain _that_ one to Great-Aunt Guilia on her own). But it included darker elements: the dark wizard Voldemort, and archways with mysterious veils. It included almost dying; and that was the part Isabella told with the greatest anxiety.

After the story was told Leonardo Petrroci sat back and thought. Isabella stayed perfectly silent and waited breathlessly. Everything depended on what her grandfather decided. There was no disobeying him.

"It sounds like you had an exciting year," he said at last.

"Yes, sir," she replied, unsure if this was good or bad.

"Hm," he hummed and then fell silent again. "And this, this Umbridge person is gone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that's something." The minutes ticked by, but Grandfather Leo said nothing more. Suddenly he stood and went to one of his shelves.

"It's getting late," he said quietly. "Here, take this one." He pulled out a battered looking text and gave it to her. "But, for goodness sake, don't let my sister see you with it. It was written by an English man. Now, off to bed." With that, Isabella was most definitely dismissed.

Once outside in the hallway, she looked at the spine of the book to see if it had some hint as to her Grandfather's decision, but the golden lettering was too faded to make out. The entire hallway was a roofed portico around the main courtyard, so Isabella moved closed to the arched openings and opened the book to its title page. Reading in the moonlight, she barely made out the words, "Sogno di una notte di mezza estate, opera teatrale di Shakespeare".

"A Midsummer Night's Dream, a play by William Shakespeare," Isabella translated. She looked up and glared at the study door. "What's that supposed to mean?" She closed the book and wandered back to her room, mulling over what the strange gift was supposed to mean. Did it mean she could go back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry next year? Or would she have to transfer to Academia de Italia where Uncle Valentino taught?

To her surprise, Castro had a visitor when she opened the door to her room. It was a magnificent Barn Owl with a letter tied to its leg. Isabella put the singularly unhelpful book down on the bed and untied the parchment. She unfolded it and read:

_Dear Isabella,_

_How's your holiday going? We know, it's your first day, but still. Are you spending the summer in Italy with the family? _

Here the handwriting changed slightly.

**So, are the Petrroci's like an Italian version of our family? Or are they like the mafia?**

_Fred, don't write that, that's rude. So, __are__ they like the mafia? _

**Hypocrite.**

_We agreed that I was writing the letter, didn't we? Anyway, we've got our new joke shop open and, let me just say, it's WICKED! We named it Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was my idea._

**Shut up, George! You know it was MY idea!**

_Stop smearing the ink Fred, or she won't be able to read it! Anyways, we were wondering if you wanted any of our products. Not that we're just sending this to sell you something. We'll give you anything you want, half-off!_

**And we'd appreciate any ideas ****you**** might have. You always have been creative and stuff.**

_How eloquently put, Fred. _

**Why, thank you.**

_Aren't we supposed to be writing to Bella?_

**Oh, yeah. Sorry!**

_Back to the point, Bella, if you find yourself in London, feel free to stop by!_

_George_

**and Fred Weasley.**

Isabella fed their owl and gave it some water as she composed a reply.

Dear Fred and George,

The joke shop sounds great! I wish I could come see it, but I'm not even sure if Grandfather will let me come back to Hogwarts next year. And to answer your question, the Petrroci's are nothing like the mafia! But we are much larger than your family. There are currently twenty-five of us staying at the Villa Petrroci, which is just outside Padua. You can come visit any time you like! I'm sure Ale and I could find someway to sneak you past Great-Aunt Guilia.

As far as new ideas go - I don't know if you'd go for this because it's a little out of the joke shop line - but my mother and I were just talking the other day about her Puffskin, Shylock. She was wishing that he was smaller and more convenient to carry around. I don't know if you could do anything there, but I bet smaller versions of Puffskins would sell really well to students.

Isabella Petrroci O'Reagan

She rolled the letter into a little scroll and tied it to their owl's leg. The bird swooped away into the Italian night.


	4. Cousins and Chickens

Isabella awoke the next morning to a loud banging on her door.

"BELLA, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! WAKE UP AND TELL ME WHAT HE SAID!" Ale's voice thundered through the doorway. Isabella was not a morning person. She turned towards the window and tried to ignore him. He kept knocking for another fifteen minutes, then blissfully left.

Isabella had drifted back off to sleep when the door slammed open. The entire gang of children - Adalina, Noemi, Tonio, Paolo and Peppe - burst through into the room. They were surrounded by all of the family's cats and the entire herd leapt onto Isabella and began to jump up and down.

The girl sat up and sent cats and children flying. Ale stood in the doorway, grinning and holding Portia. The kneazle purred and rubbed her chin against Alessandro's hand.

"Dirty, underhanded, traitorous-" Isabella spat at him, shoving Peppe and two cats off the bed. "Tonio, leave my pillow alone!" But the toddler had grabbed Isabella's pillow and began to thwack her over the head with it.

"This was so not their idea, Ale!" she yelled.

"Come on, it's late morning!" her cousin smiled, pulling Tonio off the bed and relieving him of his weapon.

"Not in England, it isn't!" Isabella snarled.

"Well, we aren't in England, are we sweetheart?" Isabella jumped off the bed and threw herself at Alessandro. He dropped Tonio and Portia and fled the room.

"Meet us outside in half an hour!" he shouted after her. She gave a cry of frustration and stomped her foot. It would take her at least half an hour to de-child and de-cat her room.

"Well, don't just stand there," she growled at Portia. "Help!" The kneazle sat down and began to groom her paw. Isabella closed her eyes and counted to ten.

"Please?" she asked the kneazle. Portia stopped combing her whiskers and blinked up at Isabella with large gold eyes. "Okay, fine! I'll have Aunt Elena make you some polenta! Now, can your PLEASE help?"

Portia stood and stretched her back lazily. Then she looked around the room imperiously.

"MEOW," she ordered. The normal cats stopped and turned to look at her. "MEOW," she repeated. The other cats meekly obeyed, leaving the room with their tails down.

"Kitties?" Noemi wailed, stretching out her grubby three-year-old hands to the retreating felines. Soon the children followed the cats out and began to squabble over what they should do next.

Isabella dressed in jeans and a red tank top, with much grumbling and yawning. She had been up half the night and wanted more sleep. But much as she wanted to curl back up in bed, Isabella knew she couldn't. Alessandro was right, she needed to get back on Italy time.

Alessandro, Sergio, and Roberto were waiting outside. They all had their broomsticks and were talking and laughing loudly. Isabella hoped they weren't discussing how Ale had chosen to wake her up.

Apparently they were, for as soon as she got close Sergio raised his voice and called, "Have a nice morning, Bella?"

"I can and will turn you into a frog and feed you to Castro," the girl growled. Her cousins just laughed and Ale handed her her broomstick.

"I'd like to see that," he chuckled patronizingly.

"I can!" Isabella said hotly. "I turned Fred Weasley into a rabbit last year and Justin Finch-Fletchley into a mouse and Terry Boot into a dog."

"By Hecate, Bella, what'd they do to you?"

Isabella blushed deeply. Truth be told, Fred and Justin hadn't done anything to her. And Terry... well, she most certainly wasn't going to tell her cousins about Terry.

"See, she's just lying so we'll think she's impressive," Sergio sneered.

"That's enough," Ale warned, placing a heavy hand on the younger boy's shoulder.

"Well, come on? Turning people into animals? That's really advanced. No way they're teaching fourth years that stuff," Sergio continued. Isabella became very tense and she glared at the older boy.

"I said, that's enough, Sergio!" Ale warned.

"Oh, I suppose the _English_ schools are so much better than our poor little Italian schools," he scoffed. "I suppose it's common over there to teach little fourth years that stuff..."

"Sergio... BELLA, PUT THAT WAND AWAY RIGHT NOW!" Alessandro shouted.

"I CAN do it! So help me, give me a reason and I swear I'll do it!" Isabella shouted, struggling to get a good aim around Ale, who had stepped between them. But Sergio just let out a long mocking laugh - that turned into a cackle.

Her cousin shrank and sprouted long red feathers. His cackling laugh died when he realized he had become... a chicken.

Alessandro and Roberto stared at their feathered cousin in horror. Then Roberto smiled weakly.

"Isabella," Ale said very slowly. She knew she was in trouble when he didn't call her Bella. "You aren't supposed to do magic outside of school."

"He deserved it," she said hotly.

"Isabella, put Sergio him back," Alessandro ordered.

"No!" she shouted. This startled Sergio and he fluttered away towards the rest of the chickens.

"Don't let him get lost!" Ale yelled, and the chase was on. Roberto and Alessandro ran after Sergio and tried to cut him off, but the chicken dodged to the right. Roberto stooped to catch him, but Sergio pecked his hand and scurried around him and was lost in the sea of chickens.

"ISABELLA, YOU PUT HIM RIGHT RIGHT NOW!" Alessandro thundered, turning and glaring at the younger girl.

"NO!" she screamed. Ale growled and pointed his wand at the mass of chickens. Nothing happened.

"Isabella, if you don't fix him, I'm going to tell Grandfather!" Alessandro threatened.

"Not until he apologizes!"

"He can't apologize. He's a chicken," Alessandro sighed. "Just undo the spell."

"Um, well," Isabella murmured. Ale turned and gave her a sharp look.

"You can't undo the spell?"

"It's an inmorphication!" she said defensively. "Any strong-minded wizard should be able to break out of it on his own!"

Just then Aunt Elena came out of the kitchen, wiping her floury hands on her apron. Her hair was escaping from it's kerchief and she was trying to pat it back into place, only succeeding in getting flour in it.

"I thought I heard shouting," she said, looking over Isabella and two of her sons. "Is there anything wrong?"

"No," they chorused quickly.

"Hm, and why don't I believe you?" she demanded.

"I have no idea, Mother," Roberto shrugged. "Um, is that the only reason you came out here?"

"No, we're having Gallo al Vino for lunch and I need to catch some chickens," she told them. "Ah, here's a good looking one..."

"NO!" Aunt Elena straightened up from where she had been stooping to scoop a chicken into her arms.

"What's the matter with you three?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"We just really don't feel like Gallo al Vino," Alessandro said hastily.

"Since when have you not felt like Gallo al Vino?" his mother said, raising her eyebrow.

"Um, since we started naming all the chickens?" Alessandro said sheepishly. "See, that one there, we named him, um, Sergio..."

"Where _is _Sergio?" Aunt Elena asked. "Doesn't he usually hang out with you?"

"I think he's sleeping in today, right guys?" Ale looked to them for support and they nodded, a little too quickly.

"Well, I want my chickens," she insisted, going for that same chicken again.

"We'll catch them for you, Mother," Roberto jumped in.

"You'll catch them for me?" Aunt Elena asked, incredulous. "Since when have you done any chores?"

"Aunt Elena!" Isabella shouted desperately as the woman grabbed for a flapping, struggling chicken. "I just remembered that I really want some polenta!"

"Polenta, dear?"

"Yes, I've been craving some all year," Isabella lied quickly. "And, well, yours is the best, so... could you makes some for me?"

"Well, of course Bella! I'll go start a batch right now!" Aunt Elena said, flattered. She hurried back into the kitchen, abandoning the chickens.

"That was too close," Ale sighed with relief. "What are we going to do about Sergio?" They fell silent, straining to think what could be done.

"We could look in Grandfather's study for the counter-spell," Roberto suggested.

"And risk having him ask what we're looking for?" Alessandro shuddered. "No thanks."

"We could... well, we could ask my father," Isabella said timidly. They agreed that this was probably the best idea and so they set off in search of Mr. O'Reagan.

They found him in the stables, gathering the horses' molted feathers into a small bundle.

"Papi?" Isabella asked, looking over the stall door. Her father jumped, hit his head on the water trough, and swore.

"Bella? Thank God, I thought you were that old bat - I mean, your Great-Aunt," he said, standing and rubbing his head ruefully.

"Mr. O'Reagan, we have a problem," Alessandro told him.

"Sounds like a good title for a book," her father grinned. "Okay, kids, what's up?" When they explained what had happened, Isabella's father laughed for a very long time.

"Sorry, so sorry," he gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Really shouldn't... not funny at all... poor Sergio." Then he started laughing all over again. When he had finally calmed down enough, he allowed them to lead him to the courtyard, when all the chickens were still pecking and strutting around.

"Okay, which one's Sergio?" her father asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"Um, we're not sure." This started her father laughing uncontrollably again. Suddenly Taddeo rushed down the marble stairs, dressed for work. He was trying to tie his tie when he saw the three of them, Mr. O'Reagan still quite unable to sober up.

"What's up?" Taddeo asked, walking over to them.

"I thought today was your day off," Alessandro said disappointedly.

"Someone called in sick," Taddeo shrugged. "I've got a little time. What's going on here?"

"Bella transformed Sergio into a chicken!" Mr. O'Reagan burst out.

"Shh!" the three remaining Medio Tabelle hushed him.

"About time," Taddeo sniggered. "Say, that's really good magic, Bella."

"Um, thanks?"

"Yeah, great, whatever," Alessandro shrugged. "What are we going to do about Sergio?"

"You mean, before he becomes a McNugget?" Mr. O'Reagan laughed, then realized what he had said and instantly sobered.

"Well, what spell did you use, Bella?" Taddeo asked.

"Inmorphication," she said glumly. Taddeo rocked back on his heels.

"That's going to make things difficult," his whistled appreciatively. Isabella covered her face with her hands.

"Now see here, Bella put the spell on, she can take it off," her father said bracingly.

"But I don't know how," she whispered.

"You'll find a way," Taddeo assured her. Checking his watch he cursed and excused himself. "Try thinking about Sergio!" he shouted over his shoulder as he ran out the large wooden gates

"Let's see," her father mused. "Thinking about Sergio, thinking about Sergio. Bella, what did Sergio look like when you last saw him?" She thought a little about it and, with Roberto and Alessandro's help, managed to picture him in her mind's eye.

"Good," he father said. "Now point your wand at the, erm, chickens. Then think of what Sergio looked like." She obeyed. Suddenly the chickens set up a great squall and fluttered to the left and right. One of them was growing larger and larger and taking on a definitely Sergio-shaped form.

At last her cousin stood before her, having molted his red feathers rather spectacularly. He looked disgruntled, to say the least, and was feeling his face critically.

"Well, I guess it worked," her father said, pleased. Sergio's jaw dropped.

"You didn't know if it would work?" he demanded, his face red.

"Um, no," the man admitted, shrugging carelessly.

"Sergio, I think you owe Bella an apology," Alessandro said menacingly.

"Apology? _She_ transformed _me_ into a bird!"

"Which you said she couldn't," Roberto reminded him.

"I could go tell Great-Uncle Leo right now..."

"You wouldn't dare." Four wands were aimed at him. Sergio gulped.

"Sorry, Isabella."

"Good," Alessandro smiled, putting away his wand. "Who's up for some Quidditch?"


	5. Probing Questions

And so the summer passed. Isabella played Quidditch with her cousins, occasionally joined by Lorenzo. Once in a while Tina and Rosina would try and drag Isabella to Padua with them. She usually allowed them to as she was too kind to refuse.

Eventually Juliet told Grandfather her secret. Rather than the happy celebrations that had previously greeted an announcement of a new child, however, everyone was quieter and more tense.

Isabella, Tina, Sergio, and Rosina's magic lessons continued throughout the summer, taught by various relatives. Paolo, Peppe, and Adalina were occasionally rounded up and given lessons, a task Noemi and Tonio were young enough to avoid.

Roberto drilled Isabella in Quidditch, and once he even took her to watch his team, the Padua Panthers, practice. But everyone else was often busy and worried. Alessandro and Taddeo would work long into the night, come back for a late dinner and to fall into bed, then in the morning they went back to work again.

Strange people Isabella had never seen before would come to Villa Petrroci and disappear into Grandfather's study for hours at a time. Aunt Marta, who worked in the wizarding hospital, started taking double shifts. Uncle Caesario would go missing for days at a time, only to randomly appear when you least expected it and Aunt Elena was almost in tears. Juliet had been right: now was not the time to bring a child into the world.

One day when Alessandro was at work and Roberto was at practice and Sergio was begin a prat, Isabella wandered into the kitchen.

The kitchen was, strictly speaking, the women's domain. It was presided over by Great-Aunt Guilia, Aunt Elena, and (when she was in Italy) Isabella's mother Antonia.

There where times, however, where Uncle Luigi took over the kitchen. He didn't mean to take over the kitchen. He started off in one corner of it, making his famous pasta. Then he would start draping the noodles over the surfaces to either side of him. Gradually, he had to move to make more room for his creations. Then he would need one of the stoves to make his sauce. But he needed several stoves because he was making several different types of sauces. And all the while his noodles: spaghetti, bucatini, fettuccine, linguine, and so many others were taking over every surface. And if he wanted to cook any conchiglie, everyone else fled the kitchen. There simply wasn't room for Luigi and his noodles and everyone else.

It was one of those times that Luigi had taken over. You could tell without taking two steps into the kitchen. First of all, pasta was hung up from every surface like bizarre, edible tinsel. Secondly, you could hear him humming to himself as he stirred his mushroom sauce.

"Bella? Is that you?" he asked, pulling aside a curtain of ciriole pasta. "Is there something you wanted?"

"No, just..." she let her voice trail away. Uncle Luigi smiled knowingly.

"Come here, mia bella, and taste my sauce," he said, patting a stool next to him. She came and sat on it, watching as he stirred the sauce slowly. She remembered vaguely that Uncle Luigi had been good at potions. He was the only one in their family who was not in a magical field of business. Although, as he often assured her with a wink, his pasta was something magical.

Uncle Luigi spooned up a bit of sauce and gave her the spoon. She blew on it to cool it down then sipped at it.

"Well?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Perfecto," she told him.

"You think it needs more mushrooms," he discerned.

"I always thinks everything needs more mushrooms," Isabella shrugged. They sat in silence for a little while, Luigi tasting his pesto sauce and adding a few more sun dried tomatoes.

"So," he said after a while. "How's school?"

"Okay," she sighed.

"Any boys?"

"A few."

"Good, that's good," he nodded. Isabella wasn't sure if he was talking about the sauce or the boys. Then he surprised her by asking, "You know Harry Potter?"

"A little," she admitted.

"Is he nice?"

"He's... okay," she agreed.

"Not one of the boys?" Luigi asked, pulling at one long strand of fettuccine.

"No." She waited for a second. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," he shrugged, untangling one of the strands of pasta and giving it to her. "He had a hard time of it this last year." There was a pause. "We all had a hard time of it."

"Uncle Luigi, is there something you want to tell me?" Isabella asked, curious.

"I think you should go easier on the boys," he said genially. "You're so pretty they can't help themselves."

"Where is this coming from?" she demanded.

"One Terry Boot." Her uncle never failed to amaze her. "One day, you're talking about him. Thinking of visiting him in the summer. Next day, no more Terry. Ale says you... turned him into a dog?"

"I don't want to talk about Terry," Isabella said hotly.

"Maybe not, Bella," Luigi said, holding up his finger. "But I think you should go easier on him. He can't help how beautiful you are. And there're these twins..."

"What about Fred and George?"

"You write them and your other friends every day," he rebuked her gently. "Have you written Terry at all?"

"Uncle, I didn't come in here to talk about my love life with you."

"Then why did you come in here?" Isabella had no answer to that, so she got up and made to leave. Just when she reached the open door, Luigi called after her.

"Hey, Bella!" She turned and looked at him. "You be careful. It's dangerous out there. Especially in England." Isabella nodded and stepped out into the late summer sun.

Isabella stood before the door of her grandfather's study, biting her lip nervously. She was waiting for the three men dressed in muggle business suits to emerge. It was a week before the English term started and Isabella still had no idea if she was returning to Hogwarts.

The door swung open suddenly, causing the girl to jump a little. The men, looking as grim and stoic as when they had entered almost four hours ago, stood in the doorway, shaking Grandfather Leo's hand. One of them caught her eye and coughed politely. Leonardo Petrroci turned and saw her standing there.

"Bella, is there something you want?" he asked, arching one of eyebrows. Isabella suddenly felt very small.

"Um, no... I mean yes," she stammered. Grandfather Leo said goodbye to the men and offered to show them the way out. As the four of them turned the corner, Grandfather turned and looked at Isabella, inclining his head toward the open study door. She quickly stepped inside and waited.

The thing about old books is they have this amazing smell. It's addictive really. Isabella had no idea how her grandfather could sit in this room day after day and not be intoxicated by the scent.

Just as she was thinking that, however, Grandfather stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"I read the entire book nine times," Isabella blurted out. "I don't know what it means. You have to tell me what it means."

"Bella-" he began, but she cut him off again.

"Is it yes? Is it no? Please tell me, I'm so sick of reading it. I don't want to read it again," she begged. Leonardo Petrroci stood for a moment and looked her over critically.

"A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing," he told her abruptly. "Act 3, scene 1."

"Thank you," Isabella sighed with relief. She went to the door and opened it. Just as it was about to click shut, however, she peeked her head around the door. "So was that a yes or no about the whole Hogwarts thing?" Grandfather Leo laughed, a great booming chuckle.

"You're leaving from England tomorrow." She ran back in the room and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you, Grandfather! Thank you!" she beamed. Then she turned and ran to her room to pack her bags.


	6. Diagon Alley

AN: A thanks to JJ Rust and Polar Bride for their kind reviews.

The Leaky Cauldron was completely empty. Isabella's mother and father hurried her through, only sparing a nodded greeting to old Tom, the landlord. The wizened and toothless landlord was gloomily wiping glass as he dipped his head to them.

They walked through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Mr. O'Reagan raised his wand and tapped a certain brick on the wall, which opened immediately to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. They stepped through the entrance and paused, looking around.

Diagon Alley had changed since Isabella was here last. The colorful window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons were lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them. A few windows had been boarded up.

"Let's go to Flourish and Blotts first and get the schoolbooks?" her mother asked nervously. Just as they were about to open the door, however, it opened from the inside and a whole group of red-haired people spilled onto the sidewalk.

"Hello, Bella!" a red-haired girl smiled.

"Hi, Ginny," Isabella grinned at the other girl. Eyeing the pile of books carried between Ginny Weasley, her mother, and father Isabella commented, "Those can't all be for you, can they?"

"No, don't be silly," the other girl laughed. "Some of them are Harry, Ron, and Hermione's."

"Are they here, too?" Isabella asked, standing on tiptoe and trying to look into the shop.

"They're at Madam Malkin's getting new robes," Ginny told her. The Petrroci and Weasley parents had fallen into quiet, nervous conversation. "Listen, we're all going to Fred and George's later. Meet us there?"

"Sure, I'd love to see their joke shop," Isabella agreed. The two families parted swiftly, clearly intent on getting everything they needed as quickly and efficiently as possible. Isabella soon had a package of heavy books and some potions ingredients at the Apothecary (half-off, as always, since her father supplied over two-thirds of the store's merchandise). Isabella could tell her parents were extraordinarily tense as she and her mother barely had to spend any energy dragging her father from Eeylops Owl Emporium, where he would normally have clung to the animals.

When they had everything she needed, they headed farther along the street in search of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.

"Oh. My." her father, who was a good head taller than either of them, said. He had stopped in his tracks and was looking at something neither of the women could see yet.

"What is it, Papi?" Isabella asked, trying to see around people. But her father merely grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd.

"Great Hecate!" her mother exclaimed, laying a hand on her breast and staring up at the joke shop.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, Fred and George's windows hit the eye like a fireworks display. The left-hand window was dazzingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple and emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT

YOU-KNOW-WHO?

YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT

U-NO-POO -

THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION

THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!

Isabella and her father started to laugh. Even her mother managed a weak sort of smile.

Her father, still a boy at heart, led the way into the shop. It was packed with customers. Here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts, piled to the ceiling in tottering stacks. There were bins full of trick wands, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-checking, and Smart-Answer varieties.

Isabella's father was utterly entranced by the reusable hangman; he stood among a gaggle of excited ten-year-olds and guessed the letters along with them as the tiny wooden man slowly ascended a real set of gallows. Her mother rolled her eyes at him but gave the tiniest of smiles.

Someone Isabella vaguely recognized from school was at the counter, asking a young witch with short blonde hair and magenta staff robes about joke cauldrons. After a moment or two the sales witch went to the back of the shop and poked her head around a black curtain.

"I wonder what's back there?" Isabella's mother mused. Suddenly the blonde witch stepped aside and a young man strode through the curtain. His red hair clashed magnificently with the magenta staff robes and bright red freckles were sprinkled across his nose. When he saw Isabella he smiled widely and changed his course.

"Just a moment," he told the waiting customer. "Bella O'Reagan, gosh it's good to see you."

"You too, George," she smiled and shook his hand warmly.

"Last time I saw you -"

"I was covered in mud from your portable swamp and you were thirty feet in the air on your broomsticks," she finished for him. His smile grew wider.

"I forget the details," he laughed. Suddenly, a man identical to George in every way stepped out from behind the black curtain. With him was a boy with untidy black hair and green eyes framed by round glasses.

"Bella!" George's twin, Fred, said loudly. "It's been ages!" Isabella gave Fred and awkward hug over the counter and grinned at Harry.

"Bella's here?" a familiar voice asked. A few of the people crowding up to the counter moved aside and revealed Ginny and an older, curly-haired girl.

"Over here, Hermione!" Isabella said, leaning forward to get a better look at the Gryffindor.

"Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?" asked Fred. "Follow me, ladies..." Leaving George with the boy - who was now getting very annoyed about having to wait for his joke cauldron - Fred led the three girls and Harry back to the window. A cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically over an array of violently pink products.

"There you go," said Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."

Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do they work?" she asked.

"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question -"

"- and the attractiveness of the girl," said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. "Haven't you shown Bella the Pygmy Puffs yet?"

"The what?" Isabella asked, confused.

"Pygmy Puffs," said George. He pushed through the crowd and revealed a number of balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks. "Miniature puffskins, just like you suggested. We can't breed them fast enough."

"They're really cute!" Ginny said, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it.

"They're fairly cuddly, yes," conceded Fred. "Well, Bella, you can have as many as you want: free."

"I couldn't!" she said, shocked at his generosity.

"Yes you could," Fred said firmly. "Creator gets as many of her products as she wants."

"Bella, you thought of these?" Ginny asked, crooning over them.

"Well, I suggested that smaller Puffskins would be cute," Isabella admitted. "But I never said anything about the - um, colors."

"Well, we figured girls would be the highest consumers of these little guys, so we added girly colors," George said, tickling one of the Pygmy Puffs, which squeaked and squirmed with pleasure. At that moment, Ron appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise.

"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. "Cough up."

"I'm your brother!"

"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."

"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"

"You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves." Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear.

"If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together," she said sharply.

"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" said Ginny at once.

"A what?" said Mrs. Weasley warily.

"Look, they're so sweet..." Mrs. Weasley moved aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, revealing the window of the shop for a moment.

"Ron, I can pay for those, if you want," Isabella offered kindly, nodding to the packages in his arms.

"What? Oh, er, thanks. But Fred and George will know it's for me and won't let you buy it," he said, his ears turning bright red. Isabella had that affect on most boys.

"Wonder where his mummy is?" Harry said, frowning. For a moment Ron, Isabella, and Hermione were confused. Then they saw Draco Malfoy, a sixth-year Slytherin, hurrying up the street alone.

"Given her the slips by the looks of it," said Ron as Malfoy glanced over his shoulder.

"Why, though?" said Hermione.

"Bella!" someone shouted. Isabella felt something slam into her body, causing her to stumble slightly. Over her attacker's shoulder, she saw a tall girl with short brown hair grinning down at her.

"Alex!" she smiled. Disentangling herself from a rather slight girl with very blonde hair and pretty green eyes, Isabella said, "Hello, Morgan!" The other two Ravenclaw fifth-years fell to talking about their summers. When Isabella looked around again, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were gone. Assuming they had vanished into the crowd, Isabella shrugged and turned back to her friends. When Isabella heard that Alex had been made prefect, she congratulated her friend warmly.

"OWLs this year," Alex said, her eyes shining with anticipation. "Can't wait!"

"Only you could look forward to exams," Morgan sighed, rolling her eyes. "Did you hear that Ginny and Michael broke up?"

"Um, no," Isabella said somewhat cooly.

"Do you think you'll get together with him this year?" Morgan asked innocently.

"What? No!" She had no fondness for the older Ravenclaw and had no trouble in telling him that.

"Oh. Do you think you'll get back together with Terry?" Isabella closed her eyes and prayed for patience.

"Leave her alone, Morgan," Alex came to the rescue.

"I just wanted to know if the field's clear!" Isabella's eyes flew open and she gaped at the smaller girl. "You know, so I could ask him out." For a moment Isabella stood in stunned silence.

"Um, okay, sure. Go for it, I guess," she stammered at last. Catching sight of one of the twins, Isabella turned quickly and latched onto him as though he was a buoy in the flood. "Fred, hey, what's in that back room?"

"Some pretty cool stuff," he said. "Can I escort you lovely ladies back there?"

"Not us," Alex said, grabbing Morgan's arm with a little too much force than was necessary. "We have to go. _Come on, _Morgan."

The back room was darker and less crowded than the front of the shop. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.

"This is our more serious line," Fred told her. "Less jokes, more defense."

"How did this happen?" Isabella asked, half-joking and half-serious.

"Well, you'd be surprised how many Ministry officials can't cast a Shield Charm to save their life, which, you know, is what a Shield Charm is for. So far we've got Shield Hats, Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves... they wouldn't stand up to any Unforgivable Curses, but they'll block most minor jinxes and hexes."

"What's this?" Isabella asked, moving to shelf stocked with bottle upon bottle of a strange dark powder.

"Instant Darkness powder," Fred said. "We import it from Peru." Just then a harassed-looking Mr. Weasley poked his head into the room.

"Have either of you seen Ron, Hermione, and Harry?" he asked, sounding frazzled.

"No, not for a while," Isabella shrugged.

"Bella, are you back there?" her father called around Mr. Weasley. Isabella excused herself, said goodbye to Fred, and went to her father.

"What'd you get?" she asked, seeing a bag in his hands. Her father showed her the pack of Muggle playing cards and was excitedly explaining how they worked as they collected her mother and left the shop. Out in the cold drab street, Isabella looked over her shoulder at the brightly lit shop. It was a little color in a dark world.

Her mother and father seemed to sense this too, and for a moment the three of them stood in reverent silence. As they turned away, however, Isabella could've sworn she saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione appear out of thin air just inside the shop.


	7. Compartment C

AN: This one is set a little bit more from Harry's POV

When Harry and Neville reached compartment C of the train, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn's only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn's welcome, Harry was the most warmly anticipated.

"Harry, m'boy!" said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of him. "Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!" Neville nodded, looking scared. At a gesture from Slughorn, they sat down opposite each other in the only two empty seats, which were nearest the door.

Harry glanced around at their fellow guests. He recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Harry did not know and, squashed into the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she was not entirely sure how she had got there, Ginny. Harry looked to see who was sitting across from Ginny and saw Isabella, who smiled and gave him a little wave.

"Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asked Harry and Neville. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course. This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other -? No? And this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether -? And, of course, Ms. O'Reagan -?"

"I know Bella," Harry said and Neville gave a relieved little smile. The pretty Ravenclaw had always been uncommonly kind to him.

"Do you now? Excellent! And _this_ charming young lady tells me she already knows you!" Slughorn finished. Ginny grimaced at Harry and Neville from behind Slughorn's back.

"Well now, this is most pleasant," said Slughorn cozily. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch... Pheasant, Belby?" Belby started and accepted what looked like half a cold pheasant.

"I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn told Harry and Neville, now passing around a basket of rolls. Harry saw Isabella take two, the look in her dark eyes distinctly saying "If I have to sit through this, I'm going to take as many rolls as I like, thank you very much."

"Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved." Slughorn continued. "Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?" Unfortunately, Belby had just taken a large mouthful of pheasant; in his haste to answer Slughorn he swallowed too fast, turned purple, and began to choke. Isabella, who was sitting next to him, looked a little disgusted and began to scoot her chair away.

"_Anapneo,_" said Slughorn calmly, pointing his wand at Belby, whose airway seemed to clear at once.

"Not... not much of him, no," gasped Belby, his eyes streaming.

"Well, of course, I daresay he's busy," said Slughorn, looking questioningly at Belby. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work!"

"I suppose..." said Belby. "Er... he and my dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't really know much about..." His voice tailed away as Slughorn gave him a cold smile and turned to McLaggen instead.

"Now, _you_, Cormac," said Slughorm. "I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid picture of the two of your hunting nogtails in, I think, Norfolk?"

"Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was," said McLaggen. "We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour - this was before he became Minister, obviously -"

"Ah, you know Bertie and Rufus too?" beamed Slughorn, now offering around a small tray of pies; somehow, Belby was missed out. Harry saw Isabella take two pies and soon after, a pie mysteriously appeared on Belby's plate. "Now tell me..."

After McLaggen, Slughorn decided Isabella was next. This was, so far, the most amusing of them.

"So, Ms. O'Reagan, I am correct in thinking your father is Patrick O'Reagan, the young Hufflepuff behind the glumbumble invasion?"

"Yes, that's him," she said shortly. Isabella apparently had the long and short of Slughorn by now and clearly disliked him for it.

"And am I to understand that he is one of the foremost trappers and catchers of magical creatures?" Slughorn pushed. "I heard that your rather splendid pets were caught by him." Slughorn was good. He was very good. There was nothing that Isabella loved more in the world than her beloved Portia and Castro.

"Well, yes. He did," she said softening up a little. "But it's not only live animals he works with. He gathers plant specimens and ingredients for potions or the cores of wands."

"Fascinating! I imagine that's quite the money maker?"

"Well, a bit. Papi's not in it for the money," Isabella said, cold again. "He enjoys his work. Most of our income comes from Mami."

"Mrs. O'Reagan," Slughorn thought. "Mrs. O'Reagan? I'm terrible sorry, m'girl, but I can't seem to place your mother. Was she a Gryffindor?"

"No, sir. She didn't go to school here," Isabella sighed a little, as though sure that Slughorn wasn't done with her by a long shot. "And the reason you can't place a Mrs. O'Reagan is because my mother goes by her maiden name. She's Antonia Petrroci." Slughorn looked like he'd just been smacked over the head with a shovel.

"Petrroci, you say? As in, _the _Leonardo Petrroci?"

"My grandfather." Slughorn sat back and gave several exclamations of delight and shock.

"You're mother wouldn't happen to be the ambassador, would she?" he asked, eyes shining like a boy looking over some brand new toy.

"She would." Well, of course, this put Isabella high up in Slughorn's esteem. Maybe even neck in neck with Harry. To be the granddaughter of such a man! To be the daughter of the ambassador! To have so many famous relatives! Her father's own small fame wilted and died in the shadow of the Petrrocis', at least, in Slughorn's opinion. And Harry could see that Isabella hated him for it.


	8. Transfiguration

It was the first day of class. The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visibly through the high windows. Isabella, Morgan, Alex, and Luna sat together, helping themselves to porridge and eggs and bacon. Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner were sitting farther along the table from the girls.

After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor Flickwick's descent from the staff table. The dwarf went to the boys and handed them their schedules. The boys looked over the pieces of paper gloomily and cast longing glances out the windows as Flitwick trotted over the the girls.

"Miss Waits, Miss Baker, Miss O'Reagan, and Miss Lovegood," he squeaked, passing them each a schedule. The four of them put their heads together, pouring over their new schedules.

"Charms, Divination, Lunch, History of Magic, _and_ Potions!" Morgan groaned.

"Same, but with Ancient Runes instead of that prophesying stuff," Alex said, sounding significantly more pleased with the course load than Morgan was.

"Check it out, we're open all of Wednesday afternoon!" Morgan said excitedly, pointing at a blank in their schedules.

"We'll need that time to study," Alex said shrewdly and Morgan deflated a little.

"Miss O'Reagan," a familiarly brusk voice called. The girls looked up and saw Professor McGonagall approaching them from the Slytherin table. "I'd like to see you in my office in twenty minutes."

"I have Charms, professor..."

"I'll tell Filius I need you this morning," Professor McGonagall said firmly. After the Transfiguration teacher had left, Isabella's friends fell to contemplating what she wanted the Ravenclaw for.

"You can't be in trouble already," Alex said.

"No, I'm not! At least, I don't think so..."

"Maybe she's giving you private lessons!" Morgan suggested, her green eyes blazing with excitement.

"But why? Bella's already good at Transfiguration," Luna pointed out.

"Maybe she'll teach you to be an animagus!" Morgan said breathlessly.

"But that advanced is really," Isabella said doubtfully. "And why she pull me aside special?" When she was nervous, the Italian's English fell apart rapidly.

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Alex said practically. "See you in Charms, Bella."

Thirty minutes later, Isabella stood outside Professor McGonagall's office waiting for the teacher in question. After a few moments, the sound of rapid, business-like footsteps filled the corridor and Professor McGonagall swept into view.

"Ah, good," she said. "I'm sorry I'm late, but there was a problem with the sixth-years' schedules."

"Oh, it's alright." Isabella was not one to hold a few minutes over a person. Professor McGonagall opened the door to her office and went inside. Isabella caught the door just before it slammed shut and followed the teacher in.

"Ms. Pavarti was concerned about her Divination class - useless subject. I trust you're not taking it?"

"Um, no."

"Good. Very good. And then there was Longbottom not wanting to take Charms and Potter with his potions... anyways. I didn't ask you to come here to complain about schedules."

"I didn't think you had, professor." Professor McGonagall paused from where she had been moving a sheaf of papers off one of the tartan-covered chairs.

"That was a joke, wasn't it?"

"Yes, professor."

"Good," Professor McGonagall said, moving the chair in front of her desk and striding around to her own chair. "Well, no doubt you are wondering why I did call you here."

"It did cross my mind, yes."

"Hm, you mean it crossed Miss Baker's mind," she said, pursing her lips. Isabella smiled; Professor McGonagall knew her students very well. "Sit, sit. Have a biscuit." Isabella obeyed but politely declined the cookie.

"Well, Ms. O'Reagan. Are you planning to continue your Transfiguration Society this year?" Professor McGonagall asked, putting the tin of biscuits into her desk drawer.

"Um, well... I hadn't really thought about it," Isabella murmured. Truth be told, there hadn't really been a Transfiguration Society last year. Umbridge hadn't cleared it.

"Good. Because I want you to teach my first-years."

"I beg your pardon?" Isabella was shocked. Her initial reaction was that her English had really deteriorated over the summer.

"My first years, Miss O'Reagan," Professor McGonagall repeated. "Would you be willing to teach my first-years? The Gryffindors and Slytherins, one-o'clock Wednesday and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, two-o'clock." Isabella felt like a piece of lead was sitting in her stomach.

"You... you arranged our schedules to free up Wednesday afternoon," she realized.

"Of course."

"You were that sure I'd say yes?"

"Well, if you do, I'll give you private lessons every Sunday afternoon," Professor McGonagall said. "I think it's high time you learned the skill of being an animagus." She said this in a proud, fierce way.

"You - you really think so?" Isabella asked, finding it had become a little hard to breath.

"Ms. O'Reagan, there's no use trying to hide from you that you are my best student," the teacher said, raising her chin a little. "I believe it's time to see how far your abilities really lie. Professor Dumbledore agrees."

"You... wait... I don't... YES!"

"I'm sorry, Miss O'Reagan, but you're going to have to speak more coherently," Professor McGonagall said, but she smiled over her spectacles.

"I'll teach! If you give me private lessons, I'll teach the first-years!"

"Excellent! Here is a copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, it's what your students will be using. Just follow the chapters in the book. It's really quite easy. You'll be using the empty classroom on the fourth floor. And I'll expect you at three o'clock this Sunday."


	9. Nobody's Girl

"So, what did I miss in Charms?" Isabella asked Morgan and Alex.

"Are you serious? What did Professor McGonagall tell you?" Morgan said, practically bursting with excitement.

"She wants me to teach her first-years." There was a shocked silence.

"Really? That's brilliant!" Morgan began to bounce up and down in a rather disconcerting manner. "What are they like?"

"I haven't had them yet," Isabella explained patiently. "But that's the reason we have free time on Wednesday. McGonagall set it up so I could teach."

"She must really like you," Alex mused. "I've never heard of a student teaching before."

"Well, there's more. She's giving me private lessons on how to become an animagus." This news sent Morgan into an ecstatic state so that some second-years walking past them in the hallway looked frightened and moved away.

"I knew it! I knew it! IknewitIknewitIknew!"

"I have no idea how you did, but yes, you knew it," Isabella grinned at her friend. "Now, can someone _please_ tell me what happened in Charms?"

"Oh, Flitwick just told us all this stuff about the OWLs, trying to scare us into being serious," Morgan shrugged.

"I see it didn't work on some of you," Isabella rolled her eyes. Morgan shrugged and left them to scurry away for her Divination Class. Alex, Luna, and Isabella turned aside and went into Ancient Runes.

"Settle down! Settle down, everyone!" Professor Babbling told the fifth-years that were milling about the room, saying hello to friends from other houses that they hadn't seen over the summer. When everyone was in a chair, Professor Babbling looked over them all from behind her podium.

"I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the identification and translation of ancient runic languages. I expect you all to scrape an "Acceptable" in your OWL," she told them sternly. "After this year, some of you may cease to study with me. I take only Exceeds Expectations and Outstandings in my NEWT Ancient Runes class."

Professor Babbling assigned them over fifty lines to translate by next class. Since Flitwick had also assigned the largest amount of Charms homework they had ever received, Isabella went to lunch feeling rather put upon.

Isabella spent lunch doing her Charms homework in between bites, but she barely made a dent in it. During History of Magic Isabella really and truly tried to take notes. She ended up doing her Ancient Runes translation instead.

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fifth-years then went downstairs and congregated outside of Snape's old classroom. There was barely time to nod to each other before the dungeon door opened and Slughorn appeared. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Isabella with particular enthusiasm. She barely glanced at him and when she did it was a cold and hard glare.

Isabella, Morgan, Alex, and Luna sat down at one of the tables. Luna was twirling one of her orange radish-shaped earrings ("It's a Dirigible Plum," she had told them first-year. "They help you to accept the extraordinary".)

"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of _Magical Draughts and Potions_." Isabella winced a little to see Luna's tattered copy. She tried, subtly, to keep her three less-wealthy friends well stocked in textbooks.

"Who here can tell me what a draught is?" he asked, looking around the room. Alex's hand hit the air. "Yes? You are Miss-?"

"Alexandra Waits, sir," Alex told him. "A draught, or draft, is one serving or portion of a potion. The word 'draft' indicates the substance is drawn from a cask rather than a closed bottle."

"Excellent!" Slughorn exclaimed looking very impressed. "Waits? Waits? Can you possible be related to Alfred Waits who first created the Draught of Peace?"

"No, I think so, sir. My father was a muggle and my mother's maiden name is Keets."

"Fascinating! Well, take ten well-earned points for Ravenclaw anyway, Miss Waits," Slughorn beamed genially.

"And now that we're all on the same page," Slughorn continued. "It is time for us to start work. Please turn to page ten of _Magical Draughts and Potions_. We have a little less than two hours left to us, which should be more than enough time for you to make a decent attempt at a Confusing and Befuddling Draught. I know it's a little complex... but I have faith in you. Now, off you go!"

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, and of course there was the usual murmurs and whispers between students.

"Bella?" Luna asked softly.

"Yeah, Luna?"

"My book is missing page ten." Isabella sighed as she looked over the torn edge of the page.

"Luna, seriously, where did you get this book? It looks like it came out of a dumpster," she told her friend, trying to make her tone light and joking.

"I think the term is 'well-loved'," Morgan giggled, carefully measuring out a handful of sneezewort powder.

"Here, read off of mine," Isabella sighed. "And let me buy you a new potions book. For my sake. I can't stand to see you reading something that looks like it was puked on."

"What's wrong with it looking like that?" Luna asked innocently. Alex, Morgan, and Isabella just sighed. Isabella pushed her book so that it was between the two of them.

Morgan, of course, brewed an almost perfect potion. It was the exact shade of green described by the book and was giving off a steam that made Isabella's brain go a little fuzzy, just like _Magical Draughts and Potions_ said a really powerful potion should.

"And time's... up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"

Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Isabella, Alex, Luna, and Morgan were sitting. He smile ruefully at the chunky, bubbling concoction in Luna's cauldron (Isabella could not help but note that Luna's potion resembled the puke-like substance spread over her book). He gave Alex's dark green potion and Isabella's spring-green potions approving nods. Then he saw Morgan's perfect shade of olive and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

"By Jove!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent! I've never seen a more perfect first attempt. And your name, my dear-?"

"Morgan Baker, professor," she said shyly, beaming with pride.

"There's no chance your related to Sven Baker?" Slughorn asked excitedly.

"Oh, he's my father's uncle," Morgan said. "I don't really know him that well..."

"Well, in any case," Slughorn interrupted her. "I can see you inherited his potion-making abilities! One of my best students... shame he was in Ravenclaw instead of my own house, really... But, truly remarkable, Miss Baker! Miss Petrroci, you never told me you had such talented friends!" Here Slughorn gestured to include Alex as well. Isabella grew very cold, annoyed that he had left out Luna.

"Miss _O'Reagan_, sir," she said somewhat sharply. "I prefer to use my father's name, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, m'girl, not at all," Slughorn back-pedaled, giving her a placating smile. He moved away to the front of the classrooms as the students began to pack up.

"And I'm not anybody's girl," Isabella growled when he was out of earshot. "Come on Luna, I'll help you with your cauldron." Luna looked a little confused and surprised but allowed Isabella to help her pack up her belongings. Then again, Luna almost always looked surprised.


	10. Teaching

Isabella waited somewhat nervously in the empty classroom on the fourth floor. She had hurried to eat lunch and scamper upstairs to the classroom. _Her_ classroom. It was empty of almost everything except a desk for the teacher and a series of smaller desks arranged in neat rows. The walls were similarly bare, with only one picture upon them. Isabella looked at its occupant, a smiling, round-faced woman wearing a goldenrod colored dress with a black cap. In her hands she held a small golden cup with a badger engraved upon it.

Isabella tapped her wand nervously against her hand, finally stopping when it began to shower green sparks and threatened to catch her robes on fire.

Finally there was the scuffle of feet outside the door as the first-years lined up outside. Isabella watched the clock tick slowly by until finally the hour hand was pointed directly at the one. Then she strode over the the door and opened it.

The first-years were tiny! Isabella could never remember being that tiny. Then again, now that she thought about it, Adalina was almost ten years old and she was very small. The eleven-year-olds looked up at her and then back at the door expectantly.

"Come in," she smiled at them and stepped aside, holding the door open. Some of them were looking very nervous. They filed inside, looking around with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Isabella waited until the last one had passed her, then gently closed the door.

"Wands away, for now!" she ordered as some of her students began to pull out wands.

"Where's Professor McGonagall?" a Gryffindor boy asked.

"Name, please?" she demanded, going to the front of the room and sitting on her desk, pulling the roster toward her.

"John Chestworthy," the boy said, sounding annoyed. "My brother Alfred told us Professor McGonagall taught Transfiguration."

"She teaches second- through seventh- years," Isabella told him, carefully making a check mark next to 'Chestworthy, John'.

"Well then, who's teaching us?" a girl with curly blond hair asked.

"Name?"

"Suzanne Fife," the girl told her. Isabella made a mark next to 'Fife, Suzanne' on her roster.

"I am your teacher this year, Suzanne," Isabella told the Gryffindor.

"But you're a student!" a Slytherin boy with black hair objected.

"Name?"

"Come off it, this has to be some sort of joke..."

"Name?" Isabella was getting annoyed by now.

"Jeremy Spike, but I want to-"

"Thank you, Jeremy," Isabella shouted over the protests beginning on every side now. Their voices died down, but they continued to look over her suspiciously.

"You may address me as Miss Isabella, Teacher, or simply Miss, is that understood?" Isabella said firmly. She had not been anticipating such resistance and now realized she needed a stronger stance. "If you have any further questions, you may speak to Professor McGonagall at a later time."

"You can bet my father will be hearing about this," Jeremy Spike grumbled. Isabella paused and her lips twitched involuntarily. Jeremy had sounded just like another Slytherin boy Isabella knew and, frankly, despised.

"Now then, if we are all _quite_ happy," Isabella said, raising her eyebrow to dare any further comments. "Welcome to Transfiguration. Some would say Transfiguration is the most complex and most demanding of the magics, but with hard work and a little practice, it can also be the most rewarding."

Isabella moved to the front row of desks where Suzanne sat. The girl had about three feather quills sitting on her desk. Isabella placed her wand on these.

"_Avifors,_" she ordered them. They trembled and transformed into three bluebirds that chirped and, with a rustle of wings, took flight. The girls oohed and awed and even the boys looked mildly impressed.

"Transfiguration will be easiest between two similar objects," Isabella informed them, moving back to her desk as the birds swooped along beside her. "For example, a quill and a bird. Is everyone writing this down?" The first-years jumped and scrambled for parchment and quills. Isabella pointed her wand at Suzanne's desk and the birds meekly returned. As soon as they landed on the desk, they returned to their form as humble quill pens.

Quills began to scratch feverishly. All except one.

"Jeremy, do you wish me to repeat what I have just said?" Isabella asked him.

"I don't think I need to take notes until I get a real teacher," he sneered. The entire class fell silent and glanced nervously at the two.

"If that is how you feel, Jeremy, I will make sure to let Professor Snape know," Isabella told him. "Now, for those of you taking notes, there are harder forms of Transfiguration. For example, inmorphication. This involves forcing another human to take on the appearance and manner of the animal he is most like. A strong minded wizard or witch is quite capable of breaking out of an inmorphication on his or her own. Does anyone feel up to demonstrating?" John Chestworthy's arm looked like it might dislocate itself he was so eager.

Isabella had him stand at the front of the room. He turned into quite a lovely little dog with floppy paws and a long, wagging tail. The girls once again crooned and the boys laughed a little. Isabella calmly transformed him back into his original state, thanking her Uncle Taddeo she knew how to do so.

"Thank you, John. Back to your seat," she told him. John bounded to his seat, looking thrilled and little bit scared. The boys around him congratulated him and patted him on the back.

"This year, you will be learning the simplest of Transfigurations," Isabella said loudly, interrupting them. The students all immediately went back to scribbling their notes. Still, Jeremy wrote nothing. "That of turning inanimate objects into other inanimate objects. We will begin with turning a match into a needle."

Isabella opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a box of matches. She placed one on the table and lay the tip of her wand gently upon it. Tapping the match two times she said very clearly, "_Postulo_". The match lengthened a little a became very silver and pointed. Isabella held up the needle for the class to see.

"Tap the match twice with your wand and then say, 'Postulo'," Isabella ordered them all. Then she went around the room and gave each student a matchstick.

As she had expected, no one managed to turn their match into a needle. She did praise a Gryffindor named Emily Sutton for succeeding in making the end of her match silver and a little pointed.

The next class was much the same, save that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were too timid to question her authority. Also, a Hufflepuff girl named Sophia Hall set her match on fire and Isabella had to calmly put out it out before it caught the hysterical girl's desk on fire. In addition, one of the Ravenclaw's managed to force his match into something that looked like a cross between the desired needle and the matchstick.

"What's your name?" she asked the boy.

"Benjy Finwick, miss," the tiny Ravenclaw squeaked. Isabella was stopped in her tracks for a second, but she kept her face blank. Benjy Finwick had been killed and mutilated by Death Eaters in the First Wizarding War. Clearly this boy was some relation: a grandson or great-nephew. Isabella nodded to the boy and held up his half-needle for the entire class to see.

After her students had left, Isabella sat on her desk and thought about what needed to be different for next time.

Clearly the students had an issue with being taught by another student. She could counteract that by wearing her own clothes rather than the school uniform, which would only serve to associate her with the student body. Isabella had absolutely no reservations with telling Professor McGonagall what had happened today. She was, however, nervous about telling Professor Snape, Jeremy Spike's head of house.

Isabella would have to ask Professor McGonagall if there was someway she could award or penalize the students by their house points. If only she could take away a point or two every time one of them was disrespectful! She wouldn't abuse the points, honestly, she just needed some authority over her students so that they would behave.


	11. Anthony

As Alex had predicted, the fifth year's free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Morgan had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had their OWLs the very next day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding that ever before.

Isabella alone was able to keep up with Professor McGonagall (who had immediately agreed to give her the authority to give and take house points from her first years during their lessons). Even Alex had to ask Professor Vector to repeat instructions once or twice.

"Quidditch tryouts this morning!" Isabella groaned on Sunday at breakfast. "_And_ I've got that lesson with McGonagall!"

"Don't forget that we're supposed to be revising our Summoning Charm and we've got an essay on Inferi for Snape," Morgan sighed, putting her head on the table and awkwardly attempting to butter her toast from this angle.

"Everyone knows Inferi come alive if you electrocute them and then they eat your brains," Luna said. Alex looked like she was about to gag on her bacon and Morgan turned her face away from the scramble eggs wit a groan.

"I wouldn't put that in your essay, Luna," Isabella advised.

"And they're made from parts of dead bodies," Luna continued, unperturbed.

"Are they really?" Alex asked, with a sort of horrified fascination.

"Yes, Voldemort collects all the people he's killed and cuts them apart," Luna told them all, her large eyes bulging slightly. "Then he sews them back together." Isabella could not picture Voldemort sitting with a needle and thread and sewing an arm onto a body.

"Isn't that Frankenstien?" Alex asked, looking a little confused.

"No, it's an inferi," Luna insisted. Isabella looked at Alex and mouthed, "_Drop it_." Her roommate wisely did, but none of them could bring themselves to eat bacon for the rest of breakfast. Which, Isabella reflected on her way to the pitch, probably wasn't the best thing right before Quidditch.

She walked down through the cool, misty drizzle, pulling her black sweater tighter around her body. When she entered the pitch, she saw about ten new faces in addition to last year's team. Roger Davies, their captain last year, had graduated and Cho Chang was the new captain. Nick Hewgley, short and broad, was trying out for Beater again this year. He was the only other seventh year besides Cho on the team.

Cory Johnston, last year's Keeper, had also graduated, leaving that slot open. But Peter Chambers, Chaser, and Jason Samuels, Beater, were still there this year.

"Trying out for the same?" Isabella asked, going over to the two boys.

"Yeah," Peter agreed, but Jason shook his head.

"I think I'll go out for Keeper," he told Isabella. "I've always fancied myself one, but never had the chance with Cory here."

Cho called everyone to order and they fell silent. Isabella shivered slightly in a chilling wind as she waited for Cho's instructions.

"Right, now, I want everyone to divide into groups of four and fly a few laps around the pitch," Cho announced. Everyone fell into murmuring as they divided themselves.

"Stick together?" Isabella asked Peter and Jason. They nodded in agreement.

"Oi! Nick, get over here!" Peter called to the other boy, who grinned at them and, shouldering he Comet Two Sixty, pushed his way through the crowd to join them.

After the standard test of flying laps, Cho released the Bludgers and gave the prospective Chasers the Quaffle. She watched them play for a while and then called a halt.

"Isabella, you're definitely one, so I need you to stop," she smiled slightly. "You keep getting the Quaffle for yourself so no one can score any goals." Isabella smiled sheepishly. It was true that in a normal game she would work with her teammates rather than against them, but she wanted to look her absolute best in the tryouts. The Italian retired to the stands to watch the rest of the tryouts.

Cho soon found herself two other Chasers: Peter, who had an excellent trial and whom Isabella was particularly happy to see returning, and a new find named Germanicus Bradley ("Call me German, everyone else does," he told Isabella with a weary shrug). Eventually Cho settled on Nick Hewgley and a very disappointed Jason Samuels as her Beaters. This was because she had found such an outstanding goalkeeper in Anthony Goldstien. The new Chasers had thrown everything they had at him, but he had managed to block four our of five goals.

"Well done," Isabella told him as they touched down. She was sweating a little and had even managed to shed her sweater. Anthony looked extremely pleased as he grinned at the team. Even Jason managed to force a smile as he cordially accepted his old position.

After fixing the time of their first full practice for the following Friday, the new Ravenclaw Quidditch team left the pitch and headed off toward the castle for lunch.

"Do you want to eat together?" Isabella asked Peter, Jason, and Anthony. She was secretly hoping that Jason and Anthony would get to know each other a somehow resolve the fact that Anthony had gotten the slot Jason really wanted.

"Can't," Peter sighed. "I promised Padma I'd meet her."

"Are you two going out?" Isabella asked teasingly.

"Yeah," Peter blushed a little.

"I've got some homework I should have gotten done yesterday," Jason said, but Isabella had a sinking feeling that this was a lie.

"I'm free," Anthony offered immediately. Isabella gave a short laugh and shrugged. She had eaten with Anthony a few times last year, because he was Terry's friend.

"Okay," she smiled. The two of them sat down at one end of the Ravenclaw table. Isabella reached for the steak and kidney pie then stopped abruptly because she remembered Luna's theories about Inferi being made of old body parts.

"Something wrong?" Anthony asked innocently. Isabella shook her head and changed course for the beef stew. She poured herself some and then grabbed a few rolls. Anthony was watching her steadily filling plate admiringly.

"You sure can eat, can't you?" he asked.

"Yes," Isabella smiled. "It comes from being in a large family. You eat whatever you can get your hands on."

"I've got two older brothers," Anthony laughed. "I know the feeling." They chatted about their families a little as they ate and shared a few funny stories. Finally Anthony reached for the last piece of apple strudel.

"Oh," Isabella said, disappointedly. "I kind of wanted that." Anthony chivalrously offered it to her.

"Why don't we share?" she suggested. He nodded and began to eat his side. Isabella had just picked up the fork when someone came in through the doors of the Great Hall.

Terry stopped in his tracks and stared at the two of them sharing a dessert. When Isabella caught his eye, he blushed and hurried past them, his head ducked down. Isabella watched him go with a little bit of surprise. What had he expected? That she would become celibate when they broke up? Isabella hadn't had the opportunity to go out with anyone over the summer but now that she was back...? Terry had always been jealous of Fred and George, even when Isabella had assured him that she wasn't dating either of the twins. Why couldn't she have another boyfriend after him? And why couldn't that boy be Anthony?


	12. Petrroci vs Slughorn

Isabella was quivering with excitement by the time three o'clock came around. It was time for her first private lesson with Professor McGonagall. The first lesson in how to become an animagus! Much to her disappointment however, Professor McGonagall had her writing notes the entire time, most of them on dangerous things that could go wrong in the spell or the consequences of failing to register as an animagus.

So it was that Isabella left her private lesson feeling disappointed, overwhelmed, and a little bit cross. One of the last people she wanted to run into appeared in front of her and blocked her path.

"Isabella, Isabella, just the girl I was hoping to see!" Slughorn boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous belly. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin - I don't know whether you know her?"

"Oh, yeah, I know her father," Isabella vaguely recalled Mr. Bobbin, a small balding man who tended to bounce about when he was nervous. "He owns a chain of apothecaries, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does!" Slughorn beamed, as though knowing Mr. Bobbin was a great accomplishment. "Your father introduced you I expect? Back to the point, I've invited Miss Baker and Miss Waits and they're thrilled to come! I'm hoping to find Harry Potter and Miss Granger before dinner, but I can't seem to find them."

"Sorry, sir, I don't know where Harry and Hermione could be," Isabella said distractedly, desperately trying to find a way out of going to his party.

"Oh, you know Miss Granger too? Splendid, splendid! Well, of course you'll be coming then? With so many of your friends attending?"

"I guess so," Isabella sighed, completely unable to find an escape route. She felt sorry about leaving poor Luna alone, but then again, Luna probably wouldn't notice. Lately, she was very concerned about something called a Blibbering Humdinger.

"Wonderful, wonderful! My office, then? Shall we say, seven o'clock?" Slughorn asked.

"Um, sure," Isabella said, trying to get away from him. If she had to spend tonight at a party, she at least wanted to get some of Snape's essay done.

With a little time and a lot of help from her friends' already written essays, Isabella managed to scribble out a decent essay. It was 'decent' because it was less than Alex's forty-eight inches and more than Morgan's twelve inches. As far as she knew, Luna hadn't even started her essay.

When she found out that Morgan and Alex were dressing up a little for the party, Isabella ran upstairs and hurriedly selected a brown skirt with peacock feather patterns and a matching blue tank top. Running downstairs while fastening her brown beaded necklace, she ran straight into Terry Boot.

"Sorry!" she gasped, trying to keep both of them from falling.

"S'okay," Terry mumbled, turning red. "You, um, look... nice."

"Oh. Um, thanks," Isabella said, blushing a little as well.

"Bella! Hurry up, we're already late!" Morgan called from the other side of the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.

"I have to go," Isabella said, turning back to Terry. "Slughorn's party. So... bye?"

"Oh, yeah. Bye," Terry said, looking miserable.

"BELLA!" Morgan called, sounding a little whiny this time. "I'm starving!" Isabella rounded the statue and glared at the shorter girl.

"You aren't starving, children in Africa are starving," Isabella rebuked her.

"Fine. I'm famished!" Morgan said, pulling Isabella by the hand out of the door. Isabella rolled her eyes and Alex grinned as she followed behind and closed the door after them.

"Have fun," the eagle on the door croaked. Isabella raised her hand in acknowledgement, that is, the hand Morgan wasn't pulling.

Slughorn's office had apparently been magically enlarged for the occasion. A huge, round wooden table dominated the room with a large amount of fancy foods displayed upon it.

"Ah! There you three are! I was beginning to think you wouldn't come," Slughorn boomed, wagging a finger at them.

"Ran into someone," Isabella muttered.

"Literally," Alex winked at her. They took the three remaining seats. Isabella sat with Hermione on one side and Alex on the other. Next to Alex was Morgan, who was now engaged in conversation with Ginny. Hermione seemed delighted that Isabella had showed up as Cormac was sitting on her other side, moodily picking at his fork. Little Melinda Bobbin, looking quite timid, sat on McLaggen's other side. Next to her was Slughorn and Zabini sat on his other side. No one except the three Ravenclaw girls seemed particularly happy with who they were sitting next to.

"Dig in, everyone!" Slughorn gestured for them all to begin. Isabella tentatively reached out and selected a dish of grilled fish. She took a piece and offered the plate to Hermione.

"So, how was everyone's first week?" Slughorn asked, evidently trying to get the conversation rolling. The silence was deafening.

"Tons of homework," Morgan boldly piped up at last. Slughorn turned his massive bulk towards her.

"Really? What's due?" The way he asked it, so innocently and interested, was perfectly tailored to receive any rant or wave of complaints the students might have.

"Oh, everything," Morgan shrugged, spooning some sort of sauce onto her chicken. "It's these OWLs, they're killers!" Slughorn chuckled at that.

"Yes, fifth year can be quite hard," he agreed good-naturedly. "But you, of course, don't have any trouble with Potions." Morgan ducked her head modestly. "No need to be humble, m'dear, no need at all! Brilliant potioneer, truly a natural! I never had a better student... well, perhaps Harry." Isabella looked up sharply. Harry Potter was horrible at Potions. She felt Hermione go rigid next to her and give a small disapproving sniff.

"What about you, Isabella? Any of the Petrrocis good with potions?" Slughorn was asking her.

"My uncle. Luigi," she said at last, taking her time as she drizzled sauce over her fish. It gave off a citrus scent that made her mouth water.

"Really? And what does he do?"

"He makes pasta." There was a silence, like Isabella had hoped there would be.

"Oh. Well, do you see much of your grandfather?" Slughorn tried again.

"We spend every summer at the Villa Petrroci," Isabella said, getting a little snappish. "But he's very busy. He has very little time for distractions." Alex's hand squeezed Isabella's knee in a vain attempt to calm her. The Italian's accent had thickened noticeably, a sure sign to any who knew her that they'd better back off. Slughorn finally seemed to notice and turned to Zabini instead. But Isabella was too worked up to let him off that easily.

"Ginny, did I ever tell you that my father caught that Sphinx that was used in the third task of the Triwizard Tournament?" she asked loudly. Slughorn cast her a nervous look and Zabini looked contemptuous and little offended that someone had interrupted him.

"Um, no," Ginny said, obviously trying to contain a fit of giggles.

"It is _very_ difficult to catch a Sphinx," Isabella continued. Slughorn was trying to carry on his conversation with the Slytherin, but he was clearly distracted. "Because they are so clever, you see. The only way to do it is to ask them a riddle they can't solve, and you can only _imagine_ how difficult that is."

"What riddle did he ask it?" Hermione piped up, evidently curious.

"I have four wings, but cannot fly, I never laugh I never cry; on the same spot I'm always found, toiling away with little sound. What am I?" Isabella repeated. There was a brief silence as everyone who had been listening in fell silent and thought.

"Well, I give up," Slughorn said at last, finally giving in and giving Isabella his full attention. "What has four wings but can't fly?"

"A windmill," Isabella said with satisfaction. "That's the trick, you see. You can't ask them the Riddle of the Sphinx, they all know that one. They know all the old riddles and they know a lot about magic. So you ask them about Muggle technology and they're stuck."

"I say, that's very clever!" Slughorn exclaimed.

"My father is a very clever man," Isabella said, finally reaching her point. "He can catch _anything_, be it man, beast, magical, or not. Some animals have human intelligence or more, so he has to be able to be smarter than them. Play on their instincts."

"What did the Sphinx do?" Cormac asked, clearly missing Isabella's point. But Slughorn had not, he seemed to be thinking very hard, possibly remembering if he had ever invited Patrick O'Reagan to his Slug Club parties.

"Oh well, she sat down and thought as hard as she could," Isabella explained to Cormac. "And she forgot to pay attention. Papi had her caged up in no time. Then he had to tell her the answer or she would have kept wondering about it and not made good sport for the Triwizard contestants."

"I'm sure Harry is eternally grateful to your father," Hermione mumbled under her breath. Isabella grinned evilly.

"The Sphinx was my idea," Isabella told her. "Grandfather had been telling me all about them."

"So what other creatures has your father caught?" Slughorn asked. Isabella smiled and allowed herself to be pleased with herself. Slughorn had not even jumped at the mention of Leonardo Petrroci; finally he recognized that it wasn't only her mother's side of the family that was talented. Now if only she could convince Slughorn to invite Luna to the next party...


	13. Christmas is Coming

Slughorn never did invite Luna to his parties. He always invited Harry who (according to Hermione) scheduled Quidditch practice whenever Slughorn sent out those little violet ribbon-adorned invitations.

Isabella was softening up to Slughorn, though. In her case, this meant that she no longer wanted to rip his head off or, at the very least, say something incredibly rude. The Potions professor had even taken the trouble of inviting Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, to dinner just to introduce her to Ginny and Isabella. The Ravenclaw, who never followed English Quidditch as much as Italian, had nevertheless liked Gwenog and even managed to forget the fact that Slughorn was inflated with pride and pomp over knowing the famous Quidditch star.

"Now everyone," Slughorn had said genially as they sat over ice cream (the dessert was a large factor in Isabella's ability to forgive Slughorn). "I know you all want autographs from Gwenog here - By the way, thank you so much for the picture you sent me, dear. See, it's there of the shelf! - but I have a little announcement to make."

He fell silent, apparently anticipating a great build of tension. Everyone looked at him with eyes glazed over with boredom.

"What is it, professor?" Morgan finally asked, realizing that this was what he was waiting for.

"It's my annual Christmas party!" Slughorn beamed. "And I expect you all to be there. You may bring a friend, of course, and wear your dress robes."

"When is it going to be?" Cormac asked, casting a furtive glance at Isabella, who noticed and refused to meet his eye.

"Well, why don't we let Miss Granger check Harry's schedule, so he doesn't miss out?" Slughorn asked, winking at Hermione. For the first time during one of these gatherings, Hermione looked righteously relieved.

Isabella spent the days approaching the holidays swamped with work. This amount of homework interfered with her sleep, which made her ferociously quick-tempered and snappish. It seemed that Luna was the only one capable of withstanding Isabella on those days when five assignments were due. The quiet, odd girl sat beside Isabella and listened to her rant and yawn and complain. She never said a word, only offering quiet support that Isabella came to rely on.

"And my first-years are a piece of work," Isabella snarled when she was up in the dormitory. It was a Hogsmede weekend, but the snow outside was falling so hard that Isabella and Luna had opted to stay in Ravenclaw tower. Alex and Morgan were attempting to battle their way into the town for extra ink and sweets, respectively.

"We were doing snails into teapots and I asked them to practice for homework," Isabella continued. "Do you think a single one of them did? No! No noticeable improvement, whatsoever. I almost docked ten points from the lot of them! Well, of course I didn't but I got to take a few off of that Jeremy Spike. What a piece of work! Can you guess what he said to me?"

Luna proved here that she was actually listening by very quietly replying, "No."

"He said that I obviously don't have a boyfriend because I am so demanding," Isabella said, throwing herself down on her bed. "The nerve of that little pipsqueak!" Portia jumped on the bed and settled on Isabella's chest. Luna turned the page of her cope of _The Quibbler._ There was a moment of silence.

"Luna?"

"Yes, Bella?"

"Do you miss the DA meetings?" Luna looked surprised and actually put aside her magazine.

"Yes, quite a bit actually," she told the her. Isabella sighed and looked out the window which was painted solid white with snow.

"Me too, sometimes," she commented. She never wanted to admit that what she actually missed was having fun, joking around with Fred and George, and hanging out with all her friends. It seemed that there was no time for any of that anymore. Portia had tucked her paws neatly under her chest and was squinting her eyes like she did when she was falling asleep.

"Sorry, but I've got to go draw my diagrams for Care of Magical Creatures," Isabella told the cat-like creature. "And they aren't on kneazles." She gently lifted Portia down and put her on the pillow. Saying goodbye to Castro and Luna, Isabella grabbed her bag and headed to the library.

She settled into one of the back tables of the library, safely hidden behind one of the shelves. Pulling out her Care of Magical Creatures textbook, she flipped open to the page on Thestrals and began to draw.

She had ridden one of these last year, but Isabella had been unable to see it. To her extreme surprise when she had returned this term, she had suddenly gained the ability to see the reptilian horses. Isabella had not witnessed anyone die between last year and this year... well, except herself.

"You're really good at that," someone said. Isabella jumped, nearly blotting her ink. She looked across the table to see Cormac McLaggen sitting there. He was leaning on his elbows, his blond hair slightly tousled and damp with melting snow and his teeth unnaturally white. He looked fake and posed, Isabella thought.

"Thank you." She spoke stiffly, having never talked to Cormac outside of the Slug Club.

"I've really got an eye for that sort of thing," Cormac shrugged. He should win an award for being able to turn a compliment to himself so quickly, Isabella thought wryly.

"Yeah, well, I don't think Hagrid is quite the artistic type, so it won't really matter how good it looks," Isabella told him, bending over her drawing once more to label the bat-like wings of the creature. Cormac laughed loudly, nearly startling her again.

"You're so funny!" Cormac said, smiling charmingly at Isabella. "That's why we would make a good pair, you and I."

"Oh really?" Isabella asked, a little coldly. "What jokes do _you_ know, Cormac?" He didn't take the insult, but sat back and assumed an air of played modesty.

"Well, I know this pretty good one," he admitted. "So, this farmer loses his tractor... or was it a cow? No, it was definitely a tractor. Anyways he loses his tractor and he says, 'Hey, where's my tractor?'." Cormac fell apart laughing at his own joke.

Isabella waited his laughing out, politely deciding not to ask why on earth that "joke" could possibly be conceived as humorous.

"What a riot, huh?" Cormac said, finally getting a hold of himself and just in time. Madam Pince came around the corner, glaring at both of them and hushing them harshly. Isabella felt the back of her neck get very hot. Now Cormac was not only distracting her, he had gotten her in trouble!

"So, anyways," he said, smoothing his hair back once Madam Pince had left. "Old Sluggy's party is coming up." Isabella blinked at this abrupt change in conversation. She put her drawing and her textbook away, finally realizing she would get nothing done with Cormac intent on talking to her. "And I was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

"Are you asking me out?" Isabella asked, trying to be blunt and to the point, something Cormac clearly had an issue doing.

"Well, yeah..." Cormac said shrugging and smiling patronizingly at her.

"I'm really sorry, Cormac, but I've already asked somebody," Isabella lied, trying to let him down gently.

"Oh. Oh, okay," Cormac said, looking crestfallen. "Well... see you there, I guess?"

"Yes, Cormac, I'll see you there," Isabella told him, trying to sound kind and a little disappointed for the sake of his pride. She waited until he had left then slumped down in her chair and picked at her parchment dejectedly.

"Great, now I actually need to invite someone," she grumbled to herself.

Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. The usual twelve Christmas trees were in the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors.

Isabella was hurrying through the decorated hallways to teach her first-years. She was wearing warm grey pants and a dark indigo turtle-neck, and carrying her teacher's copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. She was cutting it close, so she had used every short cut she knew and was now hurrying along so quickly that she turned a corner sharply and nearly hit Anthony Goldstein.

"Sorry, Anthony!" she said reaching out to steady him.

"It's okay, Bella," he grinned. "Where are you off to?"

"It's Wednesday..."

"Oh, yeah. This is the day you teach the first-years," Anthony remembered. She had told him about her students during Quidditch practice one time. "How're they doing?"

"Fine. A little slow, but fine," Isabella shrugged.

"Well, we can't all be you," Anthony grinned, running a hand through his dark hair. "See you at practice then?"

"Yeah, see you then," Isabella smiled slightly. She watched as he started to walk down the corridor she had just come up.

"Wait!" she called after him. Anthony turned, arching one eyebrow questioningly. Isabella walked up to him, holding her book tightly to her chest. "Slughorn's having a Christmas party and he's allowing us to bring... dates." Isabella had been meaning to say 'friends', but she was still hurt by Jeremy Spike's comment from a few weeks ago. "And I was wondering if you wanted to come."

"With you?" Anthony asked.

"Um, yes," Isabella said, chewing her lip. "I mean, if you don't want to go, that's fine too. I can ask someone else..."

"Oh, no, I'd love to go with you," Anthony jumped in. "That'd be great. When is it?"

"A week from today," Isabella said, smiling broadly. "Meet me in the common room at eight?"

"Sure thing," Anthony said. Isabella left, feeling very accomplished and pleased with her choice.


	14. Slughorn's Party

"You're taking Anthony?" Morgan squealed with delight when Isabella told her the news. "Are you two going out?"

"It's just one date, Morgs," Isabella sighed but she couldn't help smiling. "Anyway, who're you guys taking?"

"No one, I'm going alone, thank you very much," Alex said.

"No one smart enough?" Isabella asked with a knowing grin.

"All the smart ones are taken," Alex grumbled.

"I'm going with Terry," Morgan announced.

"You're WHAT?" Isabella and Alex shouted.

"I'm going with Terry," Morgan repeated, sticking her lower lip out a little. "We're going out."

"When did this happen?" Isabella demanded, feeling very upset and hurt for some reason.

"Yesterday," Morgan said sounding more anxious. "That's okay, right? You said it was okay!"

"Oh. Yeah. It's... fine," Isabella said. She suddenly felt very tired and empty. Alex was looking at her keenly, but she was saved from explaining herself by Luna who arrived practically glowing with delight.

"What's up Luna? Did your dad finally discover the Crumpled-Horn Snorkak?" Isabella asked, seizing on the change in topic.

"Harry asked me to come to Slughorn's party with him," she beamed. There was an awkward pause where the other three girls stared at Luna.

"Harry... Potter...?" Alex asked slowly.

"Yes, I met him in the hallway and he asked me to come with him as a friend," Luna said, twirling dreamily. There was a significant decrease in the tension of the room as everyone sighed with relief and congratulated Luna. Sometimes the girl could be so odd that it was difficult to tell when she was thinking of reality or fantasy.

"So, what's everybody wearing tonight?" Morgan asked.

Alex's dress was black, but they made her look elegant and pretty, especially since Morgan had done her hair with pretty barrettes. Luna was wearing a pink dress with silver ruffles. Morgan was wearing emerald green, which complimented her eyes wonderfully and made them sparkle with light. She had also arranged her pretty blond hair in a very artistic manner. When Isabella looked at her, she could not help but feel amazed and a little inadequate. This, of course, was ridiculous.

Because Isabella O'Reagan looked stunning in her royal purple robes. They were purple because that was the color of the Petrroci house and her great-aunt Guilia had bought them for her. They were cut in the Roman fashion, having come from that self-same city, with golden designs swirling around the hems. Her dark hair was gathered in a bun, but some of it had been allowed to hang freely over one of her shoulders. With Morgan's work on her makeup, Isabella was sure to stun every boy present at the party.

Luna left earlier than the rest of them because she had promised to meet Harry in the Entrance Hall. At about eight o'clock, the other three girls wandered down to the Common Room.

Anthony was wearing navy blue robes that complimented his dark brown hair. Standing next to him, looking slightly awkward and pulling at the collar of his sage dress robes, was Terry. Isabella felt a small thrill to see him, immediately dampened by the sight of him smiling at Morgan and offering her his arm.

"So, Anthony, what did you think of the last Quidditch match? You know, between Gryffindor and Slytherin?" Isabella asked. Anthony grimaced slightly.

"I don't know what charm the Gryffindor team was under, but I'm not looking forward to playing them," he said sincerely. Isabella nodded her head as they went through the wooden door and began to descend the circular staircase.

"Did you hear, there's supposed to be a vampire coming tonight?" Alex asked the group at large. Isabella felt a little sorry for her tall friend because she had no companion for the night, but then remembered that any other person would probably bore Alex to tears.

"Rufus Scrimgeour?" Isabella asked calmly. Morgan giggled a little and Alex smiled.

"I - what?" Terry asked, looking confused and disconcerted.

"Nothing, it's just that Luna thinks the Minister is a vampire," Morgan explained to him. "One of her dad's strange ideas."

"Weird," Anthony commented. "Is she always that barmy?"

"Luna isn't barmy! She's..." Isabella trailed off and frowned. "Alex, help me. Singolo?"

"Unique, individual, different, uncommon," Alex provided helpfully.

"Si," Isabella nodded. "Special."

"Is she a walking thesaurus?" Anthony asked, whispering into Isabella's ear. The Italian giggled and shrugged.

"Basically," she confirmed in a hushed voice.

"Are you two talking about me?" Alex demanded, eyes narrowed.

"He said you are a walking thesaurus," Isabella told her bluntly. Alex blinked and looked pleased.

"Oh. Thanks," she said, the corners of her lips twitching a little. They were already approaching Slughorn's office and the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation were growing louder with every step they took.

Like his previous parties, Slughorn's office had been magically enlarged. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent.

"Should we be vaguely offended?" Terry asked.

"Why?" Morgan inquired, looking around the crowded, stuffy room.

"Well, the decorations are green, red, and yellow but there's no blue," Terry pointed out slowly. "So we, as Ravenclaws, are being excluded. We should all leave in protest." They all laughed a little at that, their merriment mixing with the sound of mandolins issuing from a distant corner.

The room was bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering. A haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables. Anthony scooped up two fruit tarts from a passing tray and offered one to Isabella. She smiled and took it.

"My, my! Look who's here! Alexandra, Morgan, and Isabella," Slughorn boomed, weaving his way through his other guests. "Come in, come in!" The Potions professor was wearing a tasseled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket.

"Miss O'Reagan, there's a few people I'd love you to meet," Slughorn said, gripping her arm and pulling her purposefully behind him. Isabella seized Anthony's hand and dragged him along with her.

"Isabella, I'd like you to meet Barnabus Cuffe, an old student of mine and the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ and Dirk Cresswell, head of the Goblin Liaison Office." Cuffe was a tall white-haired man with an easy-going smile and a firm handshake. He wore glasses and was clean shaven. His companion was also tall, and his grey hair now only covered the sides of his head. He had the distinct appearance of a forcible, vibrant personality that well-fitted a popular politician.

"Isabella Petrroci O'Reagan, I am simply delighted," Cuffe said, looking down at her. "And who is your friend?"

"This is Anthony Goldstein," she introduced him to the two wizards. Slughorn had mysteriously vanished into the crowd. "He's a sixth year in Ravenclaw."

"Nice to meet you," Cuffe said politely, giving Anthony's hand one strong shake. "So, Isabella, how is your father?"

"You know my father?" she asked, surprised.

"We were in school together, didn't old Sluggy tell you?" Cuffe boomed. "Course, Patrick was a few years younger than me, but everybody knew him! Always getting into trouble with that Hufflepuff girl... what was her name?"

"Dora Tonks?" Isabella asked, having heard her father talk about his best friend occasionally.

"That's the one!" Cuffe nodded. "Did you ever hear how they infected the school's beehives with glumbumbles?"

"Yes," Isabella smiled wryly. "Or the time when they tried to turn the upstairs corridor into a slip and slide and ended up flooding three floors?" Cuffe laughed at the memory and even Anthony and Dirk Cresswell looked amused.

"I must say, I'm not surprised Antonia's husband is a bit of a trouble maker," Cresswell said. "Not that she's seems inclined to childish pranks. But she does like to have a bit of fun. I remember last year she showed up with a peacock feather quill. Bloody hard to write with, but she kept it." Isabella smiled slightly, remembering her gift to her mother last year.

"Of course, there's those rumors of her continued arguments with the Minister," Cuffe said, giving Isabella a side long glance. She felt her heart sink: Isabella was not in the mood to convince the journalist that she had no idea what her mother was discussing with Scrimgeour.

"Mr. Cresswell, sir, I have a question about the Goblin rebellion," Anthony said, unwittingly coming to her rescue. "Was it Urg the Unclean or Ug the Unreliable whose imprisonment started the war?"

"Ug the Unreliable, my dear boy," Cresswell said, clearly pleased to be asked a question about his work. "He was suspected of peddling leprechaun gold."

"Hmm, how much can leprechaun gold _really_ impact the wizarding economy?" Isabella asked. "I mean, on a microeconomic scale it can have a great influence. For example, I had two friends who were owed a dept. It was paid in leprechaun gold and my friends wanted to blackmail the offender."

"Well, depending on what is being paid with leprechaun gold, and the size of the debt, the effects can be severe," Cuffe said, joining in the conversation with evident reluctance.

"But is it better or worse than simply counterfeiting coins?" Isabella asked shrewdly.

"Yes, I've wondered that as well," Anthony piped up. "I mean, isn't it perfectly possible for wizards to simply make their own coins and use them as thought they were real currency?"

"No, that's one of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguartion," Isabella said without missing a beat. "The Philosopher's Stone can turn _other_ substances into gold and the Gemino curse can produce replicas of an _existing_ gold piece but are worthless in value."

"But how would you know it was worthless?" Anthony insisted. "Say you make yourself a batch of replicated Galleons and buy an ice cream sundae from me-"

"Why an ice cream sundae?"

"Because I feel like ice cream."

"Fair enough."

"So you come into buy an ice cream sundae. I look at your money and what exactly tells me it's fake? How can I, an innocent shopkeeper, tell that you were ripping me off?"

Isabella opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I'm not exactly sure. I know that the physical appearance of the object is transferred to its copy, but I'm not sure what factors you could use to tell," she said slowly. "Do you, Mr. Cuffe? Mr. Cresswell?"

"You lost me at Gomp's Principals, or whatever it was," Dirk Cresswell shrugged.

"Yeah, is it just me or are kids getting smarter than they used to be?" Barnabus Cuffe asked. Anthony and Isabella looked at each other and smiled, shrugging slightly.

"Wit beyond measure..." she began.

"Is man's greatest treasure," a dreamy, sing-song voice picked up. Isabella turned around to see Luna. She was standing with Harry, Slughorn, a short bespectacled man, and a tall emaciated man with dark shadows under his eyes. Harry was apparently trying to keep the shorter man from writing some sort of biography on the _Boy Who Lived_ and could only spare Isabella a sort of desperate glance.

Luna and the younger man were looking at Isabella, Anthony, Mr. Cuffe, and Mr. Cresswell with interest. That is, the young man was looking at Isabella with interest. Too much interest. It made her uncomfortable and she instinctively stepped back, running into Mr. Cuffe. To her surprise, the _Daily Prophet _editor placed a hand protectively on her shoulder and pulled her behind him, stepping forward. Anthony looked nervous and started to edge away as the young man inched a little closer to where Isabella was hidden.

"_Sanguini, stay here!_" the wizard said suddenly, breaking out of his conversation with Harry and giving the young man a reproachful glare. "Here, have a pasty," added the man, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turing his attention back to Harry.

Sanguini looked at the pasty with evident disgust and then back at Isabella with a rather hungry look in his eye.

"Mr. Goldstein, I think you had better take Miss O'Reagan along with you and get a Butterbeer," Cresswell suggested.

"Er, right," Anthony muttered, keeping his eye on the hungry vampire and grabbing Isabella's hand. He pulled her out from behind Mr. Cuffe and into the crowd. When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw Sanguini staring after her. But the next moment Mr. Cuffe and Mr. Cresswell had blocked her from the vampire's view; she did not think their movement entirely coincidental.

Two people hurried out of the crowd towards Anthony and Isabella.

"Are you alright?" Terry asked them, keeping his eyes on the ground. "I heard that vampire bloke..."

"We're fine," Anthony said abruptly.

"Are you sure, Bella?" Morgan asked, tucking a strand of her friend's hair behind her ear. "I heard he was _staring_."

"News sure travels fast," Isabella murmured. "But, yeah, I'm fine. A little spooked, but fine."

"Well, as long as he didn't hurt you..." Morgan began, a characteristic gleam in her eye. "What do you think of him? Cute, huh?"

"I don't - What?"

"I mean, if it weren't for his condition I'd seriously be in love," Morgan gushed. "Adorable, isn't he?"

"Yeah. If I could get over the fact that he was thirsting for my blood, I would totally go out with Sanguini," Isabella said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, other than his lust for my life, he's just plain darling. With that hair and those eyes..."

"I know, right?" Morgan squealed. Isabella stared at her friend.

"Sarcasm is totally lost upon you," she said, shaking her head.

"Hey, guys," someone called. They turned around to see Harry, Luna, and Hermione squeeze their way from the crowd.

"Hi, Harry," Isabella smiled at the older boy.

"How's term going this year?" he asked. Hermione kept looking over her shoulder, as though afraid of being followed.

"Oh, OWLs and all that," Morgan shrugged.

"Hard aren't they?" Terry asked, glancing at Isabella.

"Well, I manage to balance them with Quidditch," she said, not even looking at him. "How's your year going, Harry?"

"It's okay," he shrugged. "No one's, you know, tried to off me in a few months."

"Wow, record," Isabella said seriously. Everyone except Hermione snorted a little.

"Harry, can we...?" Hermione asked, somewhat pleading.

"What? Oh, sure," Harry said. "We're heading into that empty corner," he told them, gesturing at the one seemingly unoccupied space in the room. "Hermione's-"

"I'm feeling a little claustrophobic," she interrupted. "Do you want to come?"

"No, I think we were heading for Butterbeers," Anthony said. "Come on, Bella." He took her hand and pulled her toward the refreshment table. The table was piled with goblets of mead, bottles of Butterbeer, fruit tarts, pasties, cookies, fairy cakes, and cream puffs. Isabella helped herself to a chocolate fairy cake and a bottle of Butterbeer while Anthony selected some cream puffs and the mead.

Miraculously, they found a couch in the middle of the room that was unoccupied. They talked for a while about Quidditch and the upcoming Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match. Isabella had just bitten into her fairy cake when suddenly the room went black.

_She was standing in a room deep within the Department of Mysteries. In front of her was an archway. No, not _an_ archway, _The _Archway. She was moving closer to it, she was going to pull aside the veil and look through..._

"Don't you like it?" Isabella blinked and suddenly the lights came back on and she was sitting on the couch with Anthony.

"What?"

"Your cake. You stopped mid-bite," he told her, evidently having noticed nothing.

"My... cake?" Isabella asked, then remembered the small chocolate cake in her hand. She considered it, slightly afraid of it and at the same time embarrassed that she was afraid of a fairy cake.

"Do you want it?" Anthony asked, eyeing the cake hungrily.

"Uh, no. Go ahead," she said quietly, giving him the chocolate cake.

"Thanks," he said, delightedly taking an enormous bite out of the rejected sweet. "You have a little icing on your face, right there," he mentioned, gesturing to his own thoroughly icing-covered cheek.

"Oh. Thanks," Isabella said wiping the icing off carefully with a napkin, intent on not tasting it.

"Man, you're crazy. This cake is amazing!" Anthony said, finishing it with gusto.

"Isn't that Malfoy?" Isabella asked, leaning forward and peering through the crowd. Draco Malfoy was being dragged by the ear by Argus Filch.

"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch arriving at the corner Hermione, Luna, and Harry had fled to. Isabella guessed that their hopes of an empty corner had been dashed by Slughorn. "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"

Isabella stood up and stood on her tiptoes to see the scene play out. Most of the party closest to Filch and Malfoy had gone quiet. Isabella could see that not only was Slughorn in Harry's corner, but also Professor Trelawney and Professor Snape. Malfoy was pulling himself free of Filch's grip, looking furious.

"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily. "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

"No, I'm not!" said Filch, a statement completely at odds with the glee in his voice. "You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the headmaster say that nighttime prowling's out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?"

"That's all right, Argus, that's all right," said Slughorn, waving a hand. "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco." Filch looked disappointed and turned to shuffle away, muttering under his breath. He pass close to Isabella grumbling things like, "hang him up by the thumbs..." and "... last year... order for whipping..." to himself.

The loud conversation started up again, but Isabella continued to watch as Harry looked at Malfoy with evident distrust.

Suddenly Snape seemed to curtly interrupt Malfoy and, ignoring Slughorn's cheerful comment, led Malfoy out of the party and into the hallway. Five seconds later, Harry said something to Luna and followed at a distance.

"What are you looking at?" Anthony asked, standing up too and craning his neck.

"Nothing," Isabella said. Harry's business was Harry's business. He didn't need a babysitter, after all.


	15. Nightmares

_She climbed onto the dais and stood still for a second. A wind rushed through the empty Archway and blew her hair around her face. Isabella waited until the wind died down, then she stepped forward and extended her hand. The veil was cold and silky in her hand, slipping over her fingers. Isabella reached up and gripped the veil and pulled it aside..._

Isabella woke with a start and clapped her hands to her mouth to stop her scream. Snow fell gently outside, blanketing the cottage in the highlands of Scotland. Evergreen garlands and fairy lights drooped, heavy with the powdery snow.

She had dreamed about the veil everyday since she had come home for the holidays, in addition to random flashback she experienced every so often. She woke up terrified, certain she had seen something when she pulled back the veil, but she could never remember what.

It came to her slowly, and by degrees, that this was Christmas morning. Somehow, the holiday had never seemed less cheery. Isabella's mother had hardly been home, going to and from the English Ministry every day in an attempt to argue Scrimgeour into reason. Reason about what, Isabella had never been told. But whatever it was evidently upset her mother so that when she came home she would only speak in Italian, a sure sign she was distressed.

Her father had done his best to make the break merry and fun. He had gone out and pulled sleeping fairies from their nests to sit on the boughs of the tree he had cut down. The little creatures preened sleepily and occasionally one or two disappeared. Isabella knew Castro was eating the little things, but she couldn't find it in herself to stop him.

Patrick O'Reagan loved Christmas more than anything. But when he came inside from hanging up the wreath on the door to see his daughter staring blankly into the fireplace, clutching Portia to her, he was so worried that he forgot to go down to the village and buy the most disgusting fruitcake he could find to send to Great-Aunt Guilia.

"What's going on?" he had asked. "Why are you so far away these days? Is something wrong at school?" It was only when she had woken up screaming and crying in the middle of the night that she had told him.

He had run into her room to see Isabella on the floor struggling to free herself from her tangled bed linens. Castro had fluttered from the dresser to the window to the bedposts, shedding feathers and crying silently for help. Portia had hid under the bed and stared at Isabella with wide, terrified eyes.

"Bella! Bella, it was a nightmare, everything is okay!" he had called, tearing aside her sheets to free her. Isabella had stopped screaming and thrashing about to bury her head in her father's chest and sob. After a while of silent comfort and hair stroking, Isabella had sat back and rubbed her face with the sleeve of her pajamas.

"Where's Mami?" she asked, looking around blankly.

"She left after you went to bed," he said soothingly. "She had some business... Isabella, tell me what's wrong." So she had told him the dreams and the inexplicable horror she had felt following them. For a while afterwards he was silent, thinking.

"Papi?" she had asked after several minutes had ticked by.

"I think I should sent you back to Hogwarts," he said slowly. "To talk with Dumbledore."

"... now?" she had asked, fearfully.

"No. After Christmas. Saint Steven's day," he decided.

And now it was Christmas, the day before she was supposed to leave. Isabella was vaguely aware that she should be getting up and going out into the living room to open presents.

Isabella rolled out of bed and stumbled over to her already packed trunk. She pulled her bed-robe free and wrapped it around feet shuffling on the powder blue rug, she crossed to the door and opened it, allowing Portia to dart out into the hallway.

"Happy Christmas," her father called. Isabella started to smile wanly, but then realized her mother was missing. Her father noticed her reaction and his smile slipped a little. "She'll be back for church," he said. "She wanted us to go on without her." Isabella went to the couch and sat beside her father.

"Can I get you something-"

_She was standing in front of her was The Archway. She was moving closer to it, she was going to pull aside the veil and look through..._

"Bella!" he father shouted, shaking her shoulder. Isabella blinked and shuddered slightly. Her father frowned at her with concern, his laugh lines looking more like wrinkles than ever.

"Caffè," she said blandly. He nodded and stood, going to the counter. Isabella scooped up Shylock, her mother's Puffskin, and held him so tightly that he squeaked and wriggled a little.

"What about hot chocolate instead?" he father asked, trying to keep his voice light. "With extra marshmallows?"

"Sure," she said, unable to muster up any enthusiasm. She stood slowly and walked to the tree. Picking up a fairy and moving it to a higher branch, Isabella pulled out a brightly wrapped gift and sat, cross-legged, on the floor with it.

"Is it a book?" he asked from the kitchen.

"No," Isabella said, the corners of her mouth twitching upward slightly at the old joke.

"Then what is it?"

"I haven't opened it yet," she said hoarsely.

"Then open it!" he called insistently. "Maybe it's a puppy!" Then he proceeded to chant, "Puppy, puppy, puppy!" under his breath until Isabella pulled the paper off the package.

"What is it?" he asked moving to sit on the floor with her and handing her her cocoa. The mug was overflowing with marshmallows so she couldn't even see the chocolate.

"You were right, it's a puppy."

"Really?"

"No. It's a set of kid-skin gloves from Aunt Juliet and Taddeo," Isabella said.

"Okay. My turn!" he father dived into the stack and pulled out a present with his name on the tag. He considered it, weighing it carefully.

"A book. Definitely a book," he decided. Isabella snorted and watched as he pulled the paper off with gusto.

"That is not a book," Isabella said, eying the long box in his hand. "Maybe a tie?"

"It's from your Great-Aunt, I don't think she'd send me a tie. Unless she wanted me to strangle myself with it," he mused. Then he popped open the lid and stared at the thing inside.

"What is it?" he asked after a while.

"I think you're supposed to wear it," Isabella said, picking up the furry thing and examining it.

"Where?" he father asked, mystified.

"Oh, in public, I'm sure," Isabella grinned evilly.

"No, I mean, where? Is it a hat?" Isabella tested this theory by pulling to hat onto her father's head. They stared at each other for a second, then she broke down laughing.

"You look great!" she giggled. Her father frowned and scrambled up, heading down the hall to the bathroom.

"MY GOD! WHAT ON EARTH WAS SHE THINKING?" he shouted from in front of the mirror.

"I hate my English nephew-in-law and I will pick out something atrocious for him?" Isabella suggested.

"I mean, besides that," he said, returning to the room. The nearest Isabella could make of the gift was that it was a furry top hat. Why on earth anyone would make such a revolting, ridiculous looking thing was beyond her.

"Okay, that's enough staring at Papi," he father said, but he didn't bother to take off his new present. "It's your turn." Isabella just laughed and took her next present from the pile.

"Book," she stated, pulling the hard-bound book free. "It's... from Grandfather. _The Tempest_. And there's a page marked." Isabella opened the leather-bound book to the page indicated by a purple ribbon.

"There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, good things will strive to dwell with't. Act 1, scene 2," Isabella read. She was silent for a moment.

"Papi, does Grandfather know about my... dreams?" she asked.

"He's worried about you, Bella," her father said, putting an arm around her shoulders. They sat in silence for a while, staring at the fire. Castro ate a fairy.

"Well, my turn!" her father said happily, rubbing his hands together. He looked over the pile of presents carefully, finally selecting the largest package addressed to him.

"Five pounds says its a book," he said.

"Done," Isabella said. Her father read the tag.

"Hey! This is from you! You can't bet on a present if you already know what's inside!" he yelled. "Rescind the wager!"

"No. You owe me five pounds," Isabella said. "You can pay it off in chocolate, if you prefer."

"Fine," he grumbled. He unwrapped the package and exclaimed with delight over the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Reusable Hangman. "Thanks, Bella!"

The greatest excitement of the morning centered around the gift sent to Isabella by Fred and George. It was an enormous pack of products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, containing everything from Weasleys' Wildfire Whizbangs to Extendable Ears. The delight and wonder that accompanied this present were abruptly cut short by...

_She needed to see what was in The Archway. Just a little closer and she would be able to rip down the veil and look behind it. Her hand was extended towards the opening when a breeze caused the veil to flutter, revealing..._

"BELLA!" he father roared. Isabella jumped, her breath hitching in her throat. Something was creeping down her face and she brushed at it... only to realize she was crying.

"Bella, are you all right?" her father asked. Fred and George's gift lay a little way away, looking like it had been tossed there and discarded. Isabella found she could not answer her father, only looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "No, you're not," he decided. "Are you packed?" She nodded mutely. "Good, because I can't stand this any longer. You're going back to Hogwarts right now."

Her trunk was brought out of her room and placed in the trunk of the fireplace. Her father sprinkled floo powder over it and said very firmly, "Hogwarts!"

Then Castro was latched in his cage and Portia was hunted down and stuffed, wailing mightily, into her hamper. The two creatures were went through, leaving only Isabella behind.

She had changed into a thick green turtle-neck and warm grey pants, but Isabella continued to shiver.

"Love you, Bella," her father said, enveloping her in a hug. Isabella clung to him, feeling whole for the first time in days. Then another vision swamped her and she was screaming again. Her father sat her down once the vision was over and tried to calm her down. With her eyes still red from weeping, her father wrapped her coat around her in a vain attempt to stop her trembling and stood near the fireplace with her.

"Be careful, be safe," he said rapidly, as though afraid if he didn't speak quickly enough she would go into hysterics again. "See Dumbledore as soon as you get there. And don't forget to write!"

Isabella stepped into the emerald fire and said very softly, "Hogwarts." She had one last fleeting view of her father standing in front of the Christmas tree before the flames engulfed her. She began to spin very fast and after a few breathless seconds, she felt herself slow down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace of Professor McGonagall's office. The professor looked up from a Christmas card, then stood abruptly.

"Miss O'Reagan, we were not expecting you until..." Professor McGonagall looked at the girl's wild-eyed, fearful expression. "Come in," she said gently, "and I'll take you to the Headmaster."

Professor McGonagall led the girl out of her office and off toward Dumbledore's office. Isabella stared at her shoes, trying to ignore her surroundings, afraid that one of the arched windows would trigger the terrifying vision.

The Transfiguration teacher spoke only two times as they walked the cold hallways; once to tell Isabella that her trunk had been sent up to her room, the second time to invite her to the annual Hogwarts Christmas feast.

They arrived at the gargoyle statue on the sixth floor. Professor McGonagall stood there a moment.

"Would you like to see him alone?" she asked kindly. Isabella nodded, remaining silent. "Very well. Fairy cakes," she told the gargoyle, which sprang aside. Isabella shuddered at the password, causing Professor McGonagall to look over her with concern.

"Up you go," the teacher said. Isabella stepped onto the staircase and began to climb up. She was out of sight of Professor McGonagall but not quite to the top when everything went black...

And she came to, screaming. Her cries gave way to sobs and she curled up on the step she had presumably fallen to, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees and her head buried in her arms. There was a sound of footsteps, coming from both above and below, but Isabella did not respond. Because she was shaken by another attack, and another as she sat there until they were coming on so rapidly she could no longer tell the vision from the reality.

"Miss O'Reagan!" Professor McGongall barked in evident alarm...

_Just a little closer and she'd be through..._

"What's going on?" an unfamiliar female voice inquired, accompanied by another pair of footsteps.

_The veil was silky and smooth between her fingers, as insubstantial as mist..._

"Everyone move back..."

_She was drawing the veil aside..._

"Give her space..."

_She stood in The Archway, which rose above her, majestic and crumbling..._

"Albus, what should we do?"

Isabella answered the questioner by screaming in terror. Blackness engulfed her once again, but this one was not the start of a new and horrifying nightmare, this was the a peaceful sleep that washed over her, drowning all senses and fears.


	16. In the Hospital Wing

Isabella was floating on a soft black darkness. Sometimes she was aware of floating and at other times she was so deeply asleep that she lost all sense of identity or awareness. But it seemed that even this sleep was subject to nightmares...

She woke abruptly, starting and grabbing the sheets in fright. A pair of twinkling blue eyes was watching her with evident concern.

"Your name is Isabella Petrroci O'Reagan. You are the daughter of Patrick O'Reagan and Antonia Petrroci, the granddaughter of Leonardo Julius Petrroci. You are in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are a fifth year student here. And a very good one at that," Dumbledore told her, his voice calm and soothing.

"I know," she replied, her voice hoarse (from disuse or screaming, she could not be sure).

"That makes things easier," Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair. Isabella shakily pulled herself into a sitting position, once again wrapping her arms protectively around her knees.

"Can you tell me your birthday?" he asked.

"March 16."

"Your favorite color?"

"Indigo."

"Your favorite subject?"

"Transfiguration."

"The names of your cousins?"

"Alessandro, Roberto, and Lorenzo," she listed quickly. Jumping in before he could ask another question she demanded, "What's happening to me?" Dumbledore sat back and looked trouble.

"Ah, well. I should have seen this coming since last year, when you almost died," he apologized. Isabella appreciated that he actually acknowledged that she had almost died, she didn't like it when people tried to gloss over it. "You see, that experience left a scar. Not a physical one, but an emotional and mental scar. Your mind has just now recognized this scar and it has interpreted it as being of foreign origin. It has attempted to attack this. These attacks have provoked the scar, causing it to shoot off memories and fears in the form of nightmares or visions.

"The trouble is that your mind may not be discriminatory in its attacks. It is possible that it has resorted to attacking itself. This could mean a loss of memory, particularly concerning those memories which have emotion for you," Dumbledore said seriously. "Now, I need to figure out what triggered the attacks. How did they start?"

So Isabella told him about Slughorn's party and when the first of the "attacks" had occurred.

"You say the vampire Sanguini frightened you?" Dumbledore asked. She nodded. "Ah, that might explain it. You see, vampires are the natural predator of the humans. Our subconscious knows this and so we humans have an instinctual fear of vampires. We automatically associate them with death. Once your subconscious was focused on death, Isabella, it began to recall memories or things you associate with death."

"The Archway," she breathed.

"The Archway," he nodded, lacing his fingers together. "You see Isabella, the subconscious is the weakest, the most vulnerable part of our mind. If the thought of death had entered you conscious mind, as it has now, you naturally bat it aside. Your conscious has defenses, so to speak. But once an idea has entered your subconscious, once it has rooted itself there, it has access to the entire mind and can remain there like a cancer."

"How do I get it out?" she asked, frightened.

"I have taken care of that," he assured her. "You see, sometimes one's thoughts can be a little too bold, a little too rambunctious. In these cases, I often find a Pensieve to be helpful. One simply siphons the excess thoughts - or in this case one particular thought - from one's mind and pours them into the basin."

"So you took that thought from my mind?" she asked hopefully.

"Oh yes. But I must caution you, the damage has been done. You will no longer be _plagued_ by these visions, but you may be subject to them in the future. I am thinking up a way to prevent this, of course. In the meantime, I ask you to stay in this bed until the feast tonight, where you can either join us, or go to Ravenclaw tower. I must tell you that your roommates are not back from their holiday yet, so you may find it a little lonely. But then, I find it is easier to sort one's thoughts when alone."


	17. Tonks

"Dumbledore, I don't even know her!" Tonks argued.

"That is all the better," he said calmly. "You knew her father, it is probably best that she doesn't know you." Tonk opened her mouth, then closed and regarded Dumbledore.

"You know, sometimes I don't get you at all, Dumbledore," she said, stuffing her hands in her pocket. "Why does it matter that I knew her father?"

"Because she's heard of you," he said. "Because you need to make sure she hasn't lost those memories of him."

"I thought you said she's fine," Tonks sighed. She had been patrolling the corridors, trying to avoid going to the Burrow, where Lupin was spending his Christmas. She supposed she could go to her parents' house, but she had honestly just felt like exploring her old haunts. The halls she had walked with Patrick back when they were kids.

"Look, I haven't even talked to him since he got married," Tonks said quietly, feebly putting up her last defense.

"That won't matter to her," he assured her. Tonks sincerely doubted that it wouldn't, but Dumbledore smiled at her and gestured toward the door of the hospital wing, "Go on, Nymphadora." She sighed and sauntered up to the door. Looking over her shoulder and seeing Dumbledore still standing there, she shrugged and pushed the door open.

The room was almost completely empty. The girl sat upright and was looking out the window, watching the snow twirl lazily down. She turned her head and caught sight of Tonks standing in the doorway, feeling awkward.

"Wotcher," Tonks said, her hands back in her pockets and her shoulders shrugged up a little.

"Hello," the girl said quietly. "Can I help you?" Her voice echoed across the room, making it seem as though she was farther away than she actually was.

"Not really," Tonks said, using her foot to kick the door closed. She walked across the wing and came to the foot of the girl's bed. "My name's Tonks."

"_You're_ Tonks?" the girls asked, clearly astonished.

"You heard of me?" Tonks asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, you and my father were best friends," the girl said.

"That's right," Tonks said, the corner of her lip quirking up.

"I'm Isabella, by the way. Isabella O'Reagan," she said, extending her hand. Tonks took it and shook it. There was an awkward pause during which Tonks wandered over to the bed next to Isabella and sat on it.

"He's fine," the girl said abruptly.

"Huh?" Tonks asked, a little startled.

"My father. He's fine," Isabella repeated.

"I didn't ask."

"I know." There was yet another pause.

"You weren't at his wedding," Isabella said at length.

"I know," Tonks said, picking nervously at her nails.

"He's missed you." Tonk started, accidentally kicking the bedside table and causing it to fall over. She jumped up to right it and happened to hit the leg of the bed with her arm. She sat down heavily on the ground and nursed her arm, staring up at Isabella, who looked down at her with concern.

"He... he said that?" Tonks asked, leaning carefully back against the other bed.

"No. But he does," Isabella said, sitting back as well. "You can tell. He never tells me stories about you. And when other people do and he's there he gets really quiet. I think he's sad you don't talk anymore."

"Oh." There was a reason Tonks hadn't RSVPed to Patrick's wedding. She supposed he was hurt that she hadn't, and that's why he had never written her. But then again, she had never made an effort to write him either.

When they had been at Hogwarts together and Patrick had been a few year older than her, they had been best friends. After a while, they had even dated. By the time Tonks went into Auror training and Patrick had gone to Italy looking for Manticores, they were 'taking some time apart'. She should have known then, really. He had said someone had set him up with an internship, someone in Italy. But he had come back with a young woman on his arm and sent out wedding invitations.

Tonks had been furious. She had smashed up her room at her parent's house and moved into an apartment of her own. She had turned her hair black and wouldn't leave the apartment for days. Mad-Eye had been the one to come along and remove her by force. And now this _girl_ who probably looked exactly like her _mother_ had the nerve to tell her that Patrick missed her.

The first time she had seen Patrick since then was at King's Cross Station last year. He had been with _her_. Tonks had been so distracted that she almost forgot she was there to say goodbye to Harry and had nearly stormed off.

"Is it true you tried to breed glumbumbles?" Isabella asked randomly. Tonks had been very silent for a while, allowing an extended pause to grow.

"Yeah. Yeah, we did," Tonks said, unable to stop herself smiling a little at the memory. "We got in so much trouble."

"What else did you do?" Isabella asked.

"You don't want to know..."

"Yes I do. I like a good joke."

"Well, there was this one time we coated all of the Hufflepuff's toothbrushes with a potion that turned their teeth green. We got detention," Tonks remembered fondly. "And then one time we put a hair removal potion in Slughorn's shampoo. He still doesn't know why he went bald so suddenly. Oi, you listen. Don't tell him any of this."

"On my honor as a disciple of Fred and George, I won't," the girl smiled, raising her right hand.

"You know the Weasleys?" Tonks asked, surprised.

"Well, Ginny and the twins. I know Ron, but he can be a little mean. At least, that's what Luna told me," Isabella said.

"Yeah, he can be a bit. But Fred and George are amazing. Just don't tell them this prank either, they've gotten into enough trouble on there own: There was this one time that Patrick glued all of the things on Professor Flitwick's desk to the floor. Flitwick gave your father detention. Patrick stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs, 'It's because I'm black, isn't it?' " Tonks laughed and Isabella joined in.

"Good times," Tonks said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Good, good times." This made both of the women sober up considerably.

"Do you mind if I ask..." Isabella began. "What the hell are you doing at Hogwarts... on Christmas day?"

"Oh. Yeah," Tonks mumbled, suddenly awkward again. "I'm, um, working."

"... on Christmas?" Isabella asked, arching an eyebrow with disbelief.

"So what if I am?" Tonks demanded, flushing.

"You know what my Papi would say if he was here?" the girl said, crossing her arms and looking the Auror up and down.

"You're father always did love Christmas, didn't he?" Tonks said after a while, her lips quirking up into a smile.

"He still does. It's killing him, me and Mami spending Christmas away..."

"Your mother left?" Tonks asked, feeling as though someone had just punched her in the gut.

"No. She's just working today," Isabella said sadly. "Ministry stuff..." The girl looked so depressed and... and _vulnerable._ Tonks felt herself feeling sorry for the little Italian. The little ambassador's daughter. Patrick's girl. Tonks found herself saying:

"Did you know he spent every single one of his Christmas's while he was in school either here at Hogwarts or at my house?" Isabella turned wide, wondering eyes at Tonks.

"Why?" she asked, and the tone of her voice made it clear she wasn't sure whether she could trust the Auror's information.

"Because his parent's were divorced-" Tonks stopped abruptly and looked at the girl with suspicion. "He - he never told you this?" Isabella shook her head. "Well, you know he was a half-blood. His father was a wizard and his mother was a muggle?" Isabella nodded. "Well, when his father fessed up - about when Patrick got his Hogwarts letter - his mother left. Patrick didn't go home for Christmas that year. He didn't get a present from either of his parents."

"Why not?" Isabella asked.

"Don't know. Maybe they forgot. Maybe they were just too mad at each other," Tonks shrugged. "Either way, neither one of his parent claimed custody. Patrick told me once that he thought his mother wouldn't have him because he was a wizard and his father wouldn't have him because he looked like his mum. His godfather, Florean Fortesque, took custody."

Apparently this explained something to Isabella, because she went very quiet and stared down at her hands, thinking.

"I - I don't know why I told you that," Tonks stuttered at length, standing up and accidentally stepping on the sheets of the bed behind her and causing them to rip. "I shouldn't have... shouldn't..." Isabella just looked at her with those dark eyes. "I'm - I'm sorry..."

"I'm sorry!" Tonks sobbed again, then turned tail and ran. She needed someone, anyone to reach out and comfort her. Her first thought, inexplicably, was Patrick. Christ, she couldn't go to _him! _He was the one she needed comforting from! But that left... Remus.

Tonks hurried through the hallways, intent on getting out of the grounds and Apparating to the Burrow. Portraits indignantly called after her as she stumbled past, tripping over her own shoes, but she kept going. Suddenly there was a flash of darkness next to her and Tonks skidded to a stop. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the gilded frame of a mirror that was hung at head-height on the wall. She back-tracked and stared at her reflection.

Her hair, mousy brown for so many months, was black again.


	18. The Feast

At approximately seven o'clock, Isabella got out of the bed in the hospital wing and told Madam Pomfrey she was heading down to the Great Hall for the feast. The matron waved her hand in acknowledgement, listening intently to Celestina Warbeck's crooning voice over the wireless.

Since she had grown a little warm but couldn't go back to the dorm, Isabella took off her coat and draped it over the statue of the one-eyed witch so that she wouldn't have to carry it to and from the feast.

As she walked past the suits of armor, the song "Carol of the Bells" began to echo out of their empty helmets.

"_Hark! How the bells_

_Sweet silver bells_

_All seem to say,_

"_Throw cares away."_

_Christmas is here_

_Bringing good cheer..."_

Isabella thought the effect of the sweet, clear voices coming from the rusted armor was vaguely haunting. She wondered where Tonks went.

The Great Hall was magnificent. Gold and silver ornaments hung, suspended in midair. The candles were all blazing cheerfully over the tables. Everlasting icicles draped under every window sill and even dangled from the boughs of the twelve giant Christmas trees Hagrid had brought in.

"_Ding, dong, ding, dong_

_That is their song_

_With joyful ring_

_All caroling_

_One seems to hear_

_Words of good cheer..."_

The four house tables and the head table's restrictions seemed to have been forgone for the occasion. Instead, both students and teachers sat together at one table down on the floor before the dais. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sinistra, Babbling, Burbage, Slughorn, Sprout, Vector, Snape, Hagrid, and Dumbledore were all there.

When Isabella entered, everyone immediately turned to look at her. Her heart sank a little. She could tell from the expressions on the professors' faces that they had all heard about what had happened.

"_Oh how they pound,_

_Raising the sound,_

_O'er hill and dale,_

_Telling their tale,_

_Gaily they ring_

_While people sing_

_Songs of good cheer..."_

"Are you all right, Isabella?" Slughorn asked, his face drooped with concern. What was she supposed to say to that? _Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just brilliant, thanks for asking_.

"I'm better," she said evasively. Slughorn smiled at her.

"That's my girl," he beamed. Snape just looked over her without any expression but, was she mistaken? That look that passed across his face when she said that couldn't have been _relief. _Not from old Sourgrapes Snape.

"_On, on they send_

_On without end_

_Their joyful tone_

_To ev'ry home_

_Ding, dong, ding, dong."_

The suits of armor finished with a low, pulled out note.

"If you'll take a seat, Miss O'Reagan," Dumbledore said softly. "We can begin the feast."

Isabella looked around quickly. There were a few Gryffindors she didn't know, John Chestworthy and an older-looking boy who must have been his brother Alfred, a few girls she thought might have been in Hufflepuff, and a couple of annoyed and aloof looking Slytherins. Also, sitting together close to the teachers, Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin (a Ravenclaw sixth-year with long copper hair), and Stewart Ackerley (a nervous looking black-haired third-year Ravenclaw). Isabella moved over toward them and sat down next to Stewart, who began to tremble slightly.

"Chill it, Ackerley, she doesn't bite," Lisa told the boy, somewhat snippily.

"Turn you into a sheep, maybe," Terry muttered under his breath, and for the first time in a long while, he smiled at Isabella. She smiled a little back, then Terry apparently realized what he was doing, blushed scarlet, and looked at his empty golden plate. Isabella felt her shoulders droop, and she looked back up the table at Dumbledore. He was looking at her and Isabella knew without asking he had been watching her closely.

"Happy Christmas," Dumbledore said softly and clapped his hands. The huge gleaming platters instantly filled up with a fat, roast turkey, a mountain of roast and boiled potatoes, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce - and a stack of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.

Everyone else dug in right away, and Isabella spooned some of the peas onto her plate before offered the tureen to Lisa.

"Stewart, may I have the-" The nervous boy jumped, dropping the serving spoon he was holding and sending boiled potatoes flying. Some of them landed on Isabella, splattering her hair and her sweater. For a moment, everyone just sat there and stared, waiting for her reaction. Stewart Ackerley looked positively terrified when Isabella threw back her head and laughed.

Dumbledore chuckled a little and a few of the other students began to laugh, as well. Even the professors tittered or, in Snape's case, sneered. Poor little Stewart Ackerley looked like he was ready to sink through the floor.


	19. The Lion Within

The dorm seemed much larger without the other girls. Morgan was off in Switzerland skiing with her parents and Alex was spending the holiday with her grandparents. Luna was at home, helping her father with the upcoming issue of _The Quibbler_. But they would all be back tomorrow.

Isabella had stolen the blanket off of the extra bed and put it over her own bed for more warmth on the chilly nights. This morning she woke up and discovered something warm cuddled in the space between her arm and her body. Portia looked up at her with large golden eyes and yawned, her little pink tongue curling.

"Morning," Isabella told the kneazle, pushing off the blankets. Portia grumbled when the cold air hit her fur and the cat-like creature slunk farther into the blankets. Castro was not on his usual perch of Isabella's bed-post, so he must have been off hunting.

Isabella dressed warmly and left her hair down. She silently walked down the stairs, trying not to wake any of the Ravenclaws who had begun to trickle in two days ago. The cold, wintry morning was visible out the windows surrounding the common room. The Black Lake had been frozen over and a few students had been out yesterday, ice skating. The trees of the Forbidden Forest were heavy with snow, which reflected the light of the rising sun and illuminated the entire grounds with an almost magical glow.

Walking out through the door and down the empty, frigid corridors, Isabella felt a thrill of excitement that warmed her more than any amount of warm clothing. Professor McGonagall had promised to let her try to take an animagus form, at last!

Throughout the entire first semester's worth of private lesson, Isabella had been learning the finer points of self-transfiguration. She had dyed her hair different colors, changed her nose to different size and shapes and even given herself fox ears and cat eyes. It was all NEWT level so it provided a challenge, but Isabella had been longing for this day. The day she would finally have a chance to transform herself into another creature without the aid of her wand.

She had arrived at Professor McGonagall's door by now, walking quickly in her excitement. Isabella raised a fist and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said the crisp voice on the other side. Isabella obey, opening the door and seeing Professor McGonagall admiring the view of the mountains from her window.

"Ah, right on time," the transfiguration teacher said with an approving smile. "I can see you're eager to be off." Isabella blushed and scuffled her feet a little. "No need for embarrassment. I remember I was just as eager, if not more, on the day I was taught. I believe my teacher used the phrase 'bouncing off the walls'." Isabella stared at Professor McGonagall in disbelief, surely the prim and proper professor had never been hyper. In fact, Isabella could not even imagine Professor McGonagall as a child.

"But that is beside the point," Professor McGonagall said abruptly, obviously aware and displeased by where the conversation had veered. "The point is, have you eaten?"

"No," Isabella said. "I thought it might be easier..."

"Nothing is going to make it easier," Professor McGonagall said firmly, looking at the Ravenclaw over the rim of her spectacles. "Particularly not not eating. Here, have some toast." She waved her wand and two pieces of toast - thickly buttered and warm - appeared. Isabella took one and bit it unenthusiastically. She remembered Gamp's Law and theorized as she chewed that Professor McGonagall must have Summoned this toast straight from the kitchens, where breakfast was being prepared.

Finishing the toast in record time, Isabella looked up at Professor McGonagall eagerly. The teacher's mouth was in a firm line but her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"All right, then," she said. "Let's go into my classroom, there's more room there. Just in case." They went into the larger room where the desks and chairs had been stacked on the sides of the classroom for the break, leaving a wide open space in the middle.

"Right, take out your wand-" Professor McGonagall started, and Isabella stared at her in shock. Transforming yourself into an animagus did not involve wand work. "-and place it out of your reach and sight." Isabella let out a relieved sigh and carefully placed her wand on one of the desks behind her.

"Very good," Professor McGonagall said. "Now, I will be guiding you and helping if something goes awry. Listen to whatever I tell you, or I won't be responsible if you get stuck somewhere in between. Now, close your eyes..."

Isabella had grown used to her teacher's dire warnings throughout the year and horror stories of wizards and witches who were trapped in their animal form and had gone mad. But now... now when she was about to try it... Isabella closed her eyes.

"Now, relax... Let your mind drift... Don't think, just be... if a thought comes into your head, acknowledge it and push it aside... Become aware of your breathing... as you breathe in... and out... Now become aware of your heartbeat... Is it loud or soft?... If it is loud, breathe slower and wait for your heart to slow in response... Good... Now, focus on your heart... Listen to its rhythm, the smooth and steady beat... Look inside, somewhere around your heart..."

Isabella listened to the slow drumming of her heart. She knew, almost instinctively, what to do. Everything in her vision had been black, but something around her heart, just beneath it, in fact, something glimmered. Looked closer, Isabella saw a spark that grew into a fire that stretched and stretched until a fiery column towered out of sight above her. But this fire wasn't yellow and red and all the colors fire should be... it was burnished gold.

"Pay attention to the color... What is the color's emotion?... Does it have more than one color inside it?..."

Yes, it did. The brilliant golden flames nearly shone over them, but the very tips of the flame were flecks of black.

"Now... hold the color..."

Hold it? How was she supposed to hold this tower of flame? Unless... Isabella hesitated, then mentally took a step towards the fire. It was pleasantly warm. She abandoned all caution and stepped within the fiery column. Something about the fire made her feel taller, stronger, wholer. She opened her eyes... and they were gold, rimmed with black.

The room seemed distorted. As though Isabella was looking at it from a lower angle than she was used to, but it didn't seem larger. Maybe just a little smaller, in fact...

Professor McGonagall, taller than Isabella remembered her, was standing at the far end of the room. Isabella was acutely aware of her scent: heather and... fear. Professor McGonagall was staring at Isabella closely, one hand raised in front of her as though signaling Isabella to stay back.

Isabella was confused. Had she done something wrong? Had something gone terribly bad and she had no idea? The human looked so - _the human_.

Isabella opened her mouth and a strange sound came out; it was inquisitive but deep and throaty at the same time. "What am I?" she thought, excited by her new form, even if she didn't know what it was yet. "How big am I?"

Her attempt at questioning seemed to frighten the human - Professor McGonagall, that is - who backed up a step or two and bumped into her desk. "Hmph," Isabella thought. "I shall have to find out for myself."

She turned this way and that, walking in circles around herself, trying to get a glimpse of the rest of her body. All she could see was a golden tail that flicked out of sight. Isabella sat down on the hard stone floor and lifted up one of her legs to see what they looked like.

A giant paw, with a large spreading brown pad trimmed with golden fur. Her paws were bigger than any animal she had seen before and her claws, when she tested them, were retractable.

"I'm a cat!" she thought, delighted. "Some sort of cat! And a big one, too! But if I'm a cat..." She looked over at Professor McGonagall, who seemed to have decided to freeze. Isabella put her paw down and stared hard at the human, struggling with the strange sound she was trying to replicate.

Professor McGonagall lowered her hand, staring at her transformed student in astonishment. "Are you... purring?" She asked, stunned. Isabella yowled an affirmation, then, to her frustration and great disappointment, she found herself slipping back into her human form.

Isabella O'Reagan sat on the flagstone floor in the middle of the classroom, crestfallen. Then she perked up a little and scrambled to her feet.

"What was I?" she demanded, bounding up to Professor McGonagall. "How big was I? Did I have spots? What sort of cat was I?" The teacher, still a little stunned, was almost bowled over by her over-enthusiastic student.

"That's enough! Calm down this instant!" she barked, but couldn't help smiling shakily. "One question at a time."

"What was I?" Isabella breathed.

"A lioness," Professor McGonagall said, suppressing a shudder. Isabella had been a large, fierce-looking female lion with long claws and a swishing, tufted tail. She had seem huge at the time, filling up the entire classroom but, now that Professor McGonagall thought clearly, she had really been rather small for a lion.

"A lion!" Isabella said, her once again normal brown eyes sparkling with delight. "How big was I?"

"Rather large, for an animagus," the teacher answered cooly, trying to hide the fear she had been feeling.

"Where you very afraid?" Isabella asked, suddenly concerned.

"Not at all," she replied haughtily.

"Yes you were, I could smell it," Isabella stated proudly. Professor McGonagall's eyebrow twitched.

"Well. Maybe a little," she assented. "But not because you were a lion. Well, partly that, but really because some witches or wizards, when they first transform, can lose the capacity to understand that they are _not _an animal. They are a human in _animal form._"

"Oh," Isabella said, considering this for a moment before another exhilarated grin spread across her face. "I should have guessed I'd be a lion! That's the form my patronus takes!"

"You can cast a corporeal patronus?" Professor McGonagall asked, her eyebrows snapping together. "I didn't think Severus would be teaching something so... useful."

"No, he hasn't," Isabella admitted sheepishly. "It's, uh, something I picked up. Last year."

"I see," Professor McGonagall said, wondering how much Harry Potter had helped Isabella pick up such a skill. "Miss O'Reagan, I think you should why the headmaster asked me to let you become an animagus. He believes that, based on past people's experience-" (_Sirius Black's,_ she thought to herself) "-you should be able to block your nightmares while in your animal form. But I must caution you that you must not transform on your own until I tell you it is safe to do so."


	20. You have to love Luna

"So, you _really _are going to be the _commentator_ at the next _Quidditch _game?" Morgan asked Luna yet again.

"She's told you a million times," Isabella sighed. "Leave her alone." Morgan instantly did, and Isabella found herself more annoyed at that than anything. When Morgan and Alex had come back from Christmas break they had made sure to include their names in their hellos. That was when Isabella had begun to suspect Dumbledore had mentioned the possibility of her memory loss to them. She had found it tedious when they reminded her of past experiences and, when Alex had gently reminded her that she preferred cake over pudding, it got to be nearly unbearable.

Isabella no longer preferred cake over pudding. The unfortunate fact of the matter was that she had begun to associate anything she had touched or seen that had triggered a nightmare with the visions themselves. Fairy cakes were abhorrent and she was utterly crestfallen that she could no longer look at Fred and George's present (which her father had sent along with all of her other unopened Christmas presents).

When Luna had waltzed in a day later, she had completely neglected to reintroduce herself to Isabella.

"Hello, Bella," she had said dreamily. "How was your Christmas?"

"Fine," Isabella grinned. "Yours?"

"Fine, fine! Daddy's got a brand new article on Umgubular Slashkilters so he's really excited," she beamed.

"Luna," Morgan hissed, "You're supposed to say your name..."

"I know who Luna is, guys," Isabella had replied, rolling her eyes at them and smiling at Luna. Now the four of them were sitting on the floor of the dormitory and discussing Luna's new position as commentator.

"Well, I think it's great," Alex said stoutly. "Now maybe I'll understand what on earth Quidditch is about." She caught Morgan and Isabella's eyes, and the three of them shook with suppressed mirth.

"Oh, I don't really know _that_ much," Luna said airily. "I figured I'd just pick it up..."

"Luna, how can you not know about Quidditch?" Isabella sighed, exasperated. "I've told you about it a hundred times!"

"So Professor McGonagall is getting you registered today, right?" Alex asked, in a blatant attempt to change the subject from sports.

"Yeah," Isabella smiled, leaning back on one elbow. She had continued going to her private lessons, eventually perfecting her animagus form so that she didn't need a long guided meditation to achieve it and she could hold it for as long as she wanted.

"I've never understood how that works," Alex admitted.

"Basically, McGonagall just has to turn in my form for me," Isabella explained, eating a gummy worm from the stash Alex had gotten for Christmas from her grandparents. "I just had to put my full name, date of birth, etc., then what form I take-"

"Lion," Alex inserted.

"Lioness!" Morgan corrected.

"And any distinguishing marks," she finished.

"Like what?" Alex asked.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Could be helpful," Alex muttered.

"Yeah!" Morgan said excitedly. "Like if we were surrounded by lions and we needed to know which one was you."

"Okay, in what scenario are you surrounded by lions?" Isabella asked, eating another gummy worm.

"We're in Africa-" Morgan began, but Alex cut her off.

"Enough said," she grinned. "So anyway, are you going to tell us?"

"I don't know," Isabella said, stalling for time. "Does Luna want to know?"

"Oh, I'm sure it will come in handy when we're in Africa," Luna said seriously. It was one of those times you couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

"I have two dark lines here," Isabella said, tracing vertical lines across her forehead. "A stripe down my back and one of my paws has dark brown fur around the pad instead of gold."

"Does it have to be that specific?" Morgan asked curiously as Alex gave a low, impressed whistle.

"Yes. At least, that's what McGonagall said," Isabella shrugged. "Anyway, shouldn't we be heading down to the pitch? What time is it?"

"Nine forty-five," Morgan said, checking her brand-new watch watch. It had been a Christmas present from Isabella, who had been told by the Muggle shopkeeper that it its "elegant, refined style makes it a very popular model among the younger crowd".

"Right, let's go," Alex said, standing and helping Luna to her feet. They were halfway to the door when Isabella called: "One second!"

She ran back and scooped up the bag of gummy worms. "They're really good!" she said defensively. "For Muggle food..." They walked down to the pitch, chatting and talking about the upcoming OWLs. Alex had started them all revising by the first meeting of their study group this semester. Talk of the examinations did not yet immediately cause stress, but in a few months it would cause an outright panic attack. Alex, always ahead on her work, was almost to the panic attack stage.

"I mean, they're the most important examination that we'll ever take!" she insisted.

"Yeah, aside from the NEWTs," Morgan said, rolling her eyes.

"Daddy says that the OWLs are very biased," Luna piped up.

"Are they really?" Alex demanded with a crazed look in her eyes.

"Yes, they are. Towards people who have been bitten by gnomes," Luna stated matter-of-factly. "I always let them bite me if I find an infestation in the garden." The other girls, who had roomed with Luna for three years, said nothing. When they reached the pitch Alex, Morgan, and Isabella headed off for the stands while Luna turned for the commentator's podium with a cheery wave.

"This should be interesting," Alex said as soon as Luna was out of earshot.

The Ravenclaw section was almost completely full by the time they arrived.

"Where should we sit?" Isabella asked, looking for three empty chairs next to each other.

"Morgan!" someone called. Terry Boot stood up and waved to Morgan, who blushed and waved back furiously. "I saved you a seat!" the boy called, gesturing to the one empty seat beside him.

"Oh," Morgan said, her eyes shining. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I guess not-" Isabella began, but Morgan hardly waited for that before she was sitting next to Terry, twirling her hair nervously and smiling at him.

"Bella! Over here!" someone called. It was Peter Chambers, waving her over to where the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team was sitting together, looking very intent on observing the match.

"There's two seats, come on," Isabella told Alex, pulling her friend over to her teammates before the extra chair could be taken.

"Watch carefully," Cho said as Isabella settled into her place next to Anthony Goldstein. "We want to know who we're playing next match."

"Nice break, Bella?" Nick asked. Isabella barely had time to lie and nod before Cho shushed them:

"There are the Hufflepuffs!" she said. They watched as the yellow and black players strode out onto the field to resounding cheers from the yellow section of the stands. "And the Gryffindors!" Cho said as Harry walked onto the pitch, followed by the rest of his scarlet-clad team. One of them, a tall one, was talking to the others animatedly.

"Who's that one?" Jason asked, nodding towards the new person. "Where's that other one, Weasley?"

"I heard he was poisoned," German said in a hushed voice.

"Really?" Anthony asked.

"Yeah, really soon after he got back," German told them as down below Harry started to yell at the new boy and sent him away to the Keeper's posts. "But the poison wasn't meant for him."

"Who was it for?" Alex asked, curious.

"Don't know," German shrugged. "All I know is, Weasley's okay but still in the hospital wing."

"That's Cormac McLaggen, isn't it Alex?" Isabella asked, judging the breadth and height of the new Gryffindor Keeper.

"Oh yeah that's him all right," Alex said as Harry shook hands with the Hufflepuff captain and mounted his broom. Madam Hooch's whistle sounded and both teams kicked off and rose into the air, the Seekers higher than the rest of their teams.

"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle," said Luna's dreamy voice, echoing over the grounds. "He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him, I think probably on purpose, Isabella O'Reagan told me it was. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he's playing them - oh, look, he's lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it from him, I do like her, she's very nice..."

"Is that...?" Anthony asked.

"Yes," Alex and Isabella said together.

"Who in their right mind...?" Jason started.

"McGonagall," the girls answered in unison.

"... but now that big Hufflepuff player's got the Quaffle from her, I can't remember his name, it's something like Bibble - no, Buggins -"

"It's Cadwallader!" said Professor McGonagall loudly from beside Luna. The entire crowd laughed.

"Looks like she regrets it," Peter said, grinning from ear to ear. Even Cho seemed amused.

"That's a very nice name," Luna said kindly. "So much nicer than, say: Pitts. Wouldn't you hate to be named Pitts?"

"Cadwallader scores!" Professor McGonagall shouted.

"Well, he'd have to with a nice name like that," Luna agreed, completely neglecting to change the scoreboard. "Now if he was named Pitts... And Harry Potter's now having an argument with his Keeper," said Luna serenely. "I don't think that's help him find the Snitch, but maybe it's a clever ruse..."

No one on the Ravenclaw team except Cho was even remotely interested in the match by now. They were all far too entertained by Luna's commentary.

"Do you see that cloud there? The one next to the dog-shaped one? What do you think that looks like? A kettle?" Luna asked. Half the people in the stands were looking up at the sky by now, totally missing when Gryffindor scored twice. "Oh, now it's changing. It looks much more like an Aquavarius Maggot now."

"What are...?" German asked.

"Don't ask," Alex and Isabella responded, squinting and tilting their heads to see the mythical maggot.

"And Zacharias Smith has lost the Quaffle... again. Oh, he looks quite upset," Luna continued, drawing the crowd's attention back to the game. "Perhaps he's got a bad case of Loser's Lurgy. It can be quite dreadful, gives you the most horrid headaches you can imagine and changes everything you see a sort of pink color. Yes, I think Smith must have it, that's the fifth time he's dropped the Quaffle. He should probably land before his hands swell up to twice their normal size and turn green..."

By this point Smith was looking very uncomfortable at almost the entire group of people in the stands were pointing at him and laughing uproariously. He self-consciously lifted a hand from the handle of his broom and examined it with some concern.

"Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!" barked Professor McGonagall into Luna's megaphone, cutting off the Ravenclaw in the middle of her lecture on the finer symptoms of Loser's Lurgy.

"Is it, already?" said Luna vaguely. "Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got a hold of one of the Beater's bats." Everyone spun around from mocking Smith to see McLaggen swinging his teammate's bat enthusiastically. Harry zoomed toward the Keeper, snarling and yelling something. But just then, McLaggen took a ferocious swipe at the Bludger and mishit it. It flew into Harry and knocked him off his broom.

The two Gryffindor Beaters swooped in and caught Harry before he fell very far as the entire crowd groaned sympathetically (except for the Slytherins, who cheered).

"Oh dear, that looks like it must have hurt awfully," Luna said, not sounding concerned at all. "That's Harry Potter out of the game. Now, I wonder if a Wrackspurt got in McLaggen's ear. Possibly, that might explain why he hit his team captain; Wrackspurts can make things very disorienting..."

As Luna continued Harry was carried off the field and the game was resumed. There was no one to give penalty points to, except against Gryffindor and that hardly seemed fair, so Madam Hooch just had them pick up where they left off. Not that Luna noticed any of this.

"You know, I have a copy of _The Quibbler_ here with me where there's an in-depth interview with Sherman Shnicklefritz, I can read it out to you, if you like..." Luna offered.

"NO!" Professor McGonagall shouted.

"_Ahem_. Quibbler: Is it true that you managed to obtain a bag of moon frogs?

Sherman: Yes, I did. Got a whole bag full of the little blighters. And they aren't easy to catch, either!

Q: And how did you obtain them?

S: I went to the moon and collected the frogs as proof.

Q: The moon? How did you manage that?

S: I rode me Cleansweep Six all the way. Got bloody cold about halfway there, so I was right glad I thought to bring me cloak.

Q: Can you describe the moon?

S: Well, it was all grey and rocky. Not made of cheese at all. I know: I tasted the rocks to be sure. Just tasted like dust, not Swiss. Or cheddar. Or gouda.

Q: If the moon _isn't_ made of cheese, what did the moon frogs eat?

S: *long pause* Well, it may have tasted a _little_ like brie."


	21. Movie Night in the Common Room

"What are you doing?" Isabella demanded. It was a Sunday evening and dusk was just starting to darken the sky outside. There were only a few people in the common room, just a few second years playing Exploding Snap and Wizard Chess. "Don't you have homework?"

"Finished it," Morgan beamed. She was kneeling on the floor with Alex, who was fiddling with some silver box.

"What's that?" Isabella asked, walking over and looking at the strange box.

"It's a Muggle thing," Alex said, tapping it with her wand, her tongue between her teeth. "It makes moving pictures..."

"We already have those," Isabella pointed out, sitting on the arm of one of the chairs and watching them.

"No, this is different!" Alex insisted. "Better! The thing is, electronics don't work in Hogwarts, so I'm trying to spell it into submission."

There was a clunk and a whir from within the box. Suddenly a round window on its side light up and projected a picture made entirely of light onto the domed, starred ceiling.

"Bloody hell!" one of the second years said, staring up at the strange, distorted man. "What is that thing?"

"It's a film!" his companion told him excitedly. "Muggles watch them!" Alex aimed the projector toward one of the more empty walls as the second years crowded over to watch.

"You know what we need?" she asked. "Popcorn!"

"That stuff you use to decorate Christmas trees?" Isabella asked.

"Yeah, but it's traditional to eat it when watching a movie," Alex explained.

"What's that?" someone asked. Isabella turned and saw Padma and German walk through the door.

The concept of a movie had to be explained so many times that Alex eventually paused it so that the person on the wall froze mid-speech. This concerned the children born in wizarding families, who were certain something was wrong with him and one little Stewart Ackerley even tried to touch him and ask if he was all right.

Nick Hewgley and Jason Samuels had run down to the kitchens and gotten enough popcorn for everyone in the house.

The movie was called "Ferris Bueler's Day Off". It was just as well that the plot did not include magic or fantastical world, because the Ravenclaws were far too in to the movie as it was. They forgot that the characters on the screen couldn't hear them and they would shout and scream at them. When the character didn't respond, the students would pelt them with popcorn and insult them. It got to the point that Alex almost felt obligated to tell the younger kids to go to bed because the older students were getting so foul mouthed.

Actually, when it came to the Muggle electronic devices in the movie, the students were very accepting, only occasionally asking what a telephone was or if it was common to break into song and dance in the middle of the street. Their muggle-born or half-blood friends did their best to explain, but some things (namely, electricity) just ended up being pegged as "some weird pseudo-magic".

They all ended up staying awake far too late. The next morning the tired Ravenclaws slumped off the breakfast with "Twist and Shout!" stuck in their heads. The Common Room was littered with popcorn.

AN: Yes, I _do _realize this chapter would be classified as filler. However, the concept of a movie night in Hogwarts was too good to pass up and I wanted another Alex, Morgan, and Isabella moment.


	22. Clipped Wings

"So that's the Cartwheeling Jinx for Charms, the dream charts for Divination, an essay on the contributions of Ethelbert the Egregious for Binns, a paper on the properties of moonstones for Potions, the hippogriff diagram and short descriptive paragraph for Hagrid, the practice OWL problems in Arithmancy, and the phases of the moon chart for Astronomy," Morgan said despairingly.

"Not to mention the eighty lines of runes _we_ have to translate," Isabella sighed.

"Wait, you forgot the Incarcifors spell we're supposed to practice for McGonagall and the essay for Snape," Alex reminded them, reading her planner.

"I didn't forget Snape's sadistic paper, I just left it off the list in the hope that I wouldn't have to do it if I ignored it," Morgan retorted.

"How's that working out for you?" Alex inquired sarcastically, pulling her parchment towards her. The four of them, Luna included, had taken over a table in one corner of the common room and were preparing for a long night of homework.

"What should we do first?" Luna asked, looking out the window longingly. Spring was just arriving, but the fifth years were all cooped up inside with their large amount of homework.

"I reckon Snape's, cause he'll grade the hardest," Morgan said.

"Yes, it is best to leave Hagrid's and Flitwick's last, because their's is due the day after tomorrow," Isabella nodded.

"Right, the Cruciatus Curse it is then," Alex said, grabbing her textbook and flipping through it.

"Let's start with the cheeriest subject, I always say," Morgan said, leaning her cheek upon her hand. "How long does it have to be, again?"

"Roughly thirty-six inches," Alex replied, finding the curse in the index and proceeding to flip to the correct page.

"Which means more, of course," Isabella sighed. "And I have to leave in an hour for my meeting with Flitwick."

As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets and notices concerning various wizarding careers had appeared on the tables in the Ravenclaw Tower at the end of the Easter holidays, along with a notice that read:

_CAREERS ADVICE_

_All fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their_

_Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss _

_their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below._

Morgan and Luna had already had theirs. Morgan was considering being a Healer at St Mungo's. Isabella had considered this a brilliant choice because Morgan was so caring and compassionate, not to mention a deft had at Potions, but Morgan was worried about getting a NEWT in Transfiguration. Luna had come back looking very thoughtful, but hadn't been inclined to share anything besides, "You know, Sweden is a very nice place".

Isabella's appointment was today, around lunchtime. She didn't mind so much except that she had no idea what she wanted to do (the pamphlets with names like "SO YOU THINK YOU'D LIKE TO WORK IN MUGGLE RELATIONS" and "MAKE A BANG AT THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL ACCIDENTS AND CATASTROPHES" had been no help whatsoever) and it was interrupting her study time.

Isabella managed to finish Snape's essay and even got her tightly sealed inkpot to do a few cartwheels before she had to leave her friends and head down to Flitwick's office. She went out through the door of the door, waving to Morgan and Luna who looked up from scribbling their essays to give her an encouraging smile. She was still facing the door when it shut and the brass eagle knocker faced her.

"Why are you nervous?" the bird croaked.

"I don't know what I'd like to do," Isabella admitted to the eagle. It cocked its head and examined her.

"Out of the eater came something to eat, and out of the strong came something sweet," he said at last, in his musically sweet voice that he used when asking a question.

"Is that a riddle? I'm not trying to get back in," Isabella told him.

"Yes you are!" the eagle cackled. "We're all trying to get in somewhere and no one's trying to get in nowhere!"

"Can you lose your mind if you don't have one?" Isabella asked it. The eagle fell silent and thought about it. "That's what I thought," Isabella sighed, then turned and hurried to Flitwick's office.

"Good morning professor," Isabella said as she closed the door.

"Good morning!" Flitwick squeaked. "Please, sit down." Isabella obeyed and watched as Professor Flitwick stood on his chair and shuffled the pamphlets that littered his desk.

"Well, Miss O'Reagan, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years," said Professor Flitwick. "Have you any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"

"Um, not really," she admitted.

"Perfectly understandable!" the tiny teacher assured her. "After all, you are only fifteen. When are you turning sixteen?"

"I just did, sir, two weeks ago."

"Excellent! Did you have a nice birthday?"

"Yes, very," Isabella smiled. The day before her birthday had been a Hogsmede visit day and Alessandro had shown up. He had made her show him around the town and insisted he buy her a present at Honeyduke's Sweet Shop.

"Good, good. But I'm getting off topic!" Flitwick berated himself. "Now, let's see how you're doing in your classes this year." He shuffled his papers some more and at length extracted a parchment.

"Arithmancy: E; Astronomy: E; Care of Magical Creatures: O; Charms: O; Defense Against the Dark Arts: A; Herbology: E; History of Magic: A; Potions: E; Study of Ancient Runes: A; Transfiguration: O," Flitwick read. "Wonderful! Wonderful! This leaves the field wide open for you. Now, you're strengths seem to be Care of Magical Creatures (from your father, no doubt!), Charms (I must say, I am very impressed with your abilities), and Transfiguration."

"I can do better at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Isabella said. "I really can. I just find - I mean, Professor Snape and I -"

"I understand," Flitwick assured her. "But it is one of your lower grades..."

"I can work harder," Isabella said. This was not, strictly speaking, true. She had put a lot of effort into Snape's class, but he was never satisfied by anything anyone did. But, being a member of the DA last year and having learned defensive spells from Harry, Isabella was sure that any _reasonable_ teacher would have given her better scores.

"You know, if you really think you could pull off an Outstanding in Defense," Flitwick said, leaning forward. "You could probably make a fine Auror."

"I don't want to work for the English Ministry," Isabella said quickly. She couldn't even begin to imagine what Great-Aunt Guilia would say if any _Petrroci _was working for the _English_. Antonia was different, she was working on behalf of the Italian Ministry and just happened to be doing it in England.

"Well, perhaps you could do ambassador work?" Flitwick suggested, pulling out a sea-green pamphlet.

"No, I don't think so," Isabella said. "I want to be in something where I can practice my magic everyday." _And not have to battle politicians for every little thing, _Isabella added silently.

"Perhaps healing?"

"I don't think so."

"Banking?"

"Not really."

"Well, there is one thing," Flitwick said, pushing aside the entire stack of pamphlets. "Professor McGonagall has been very pleased with your work, very pleased indeed. She has suggested that you pursue teaching Transfiguration as a career."

"Transfiguration?" Isabella stuttered.

"It is your favorite subject, yes?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you are a registered animagus, are you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"One of only seven in this century?"

"Yes, but-"

"Do you not wish to share your gifts with the next generation?"

That was hard. If she said no, she was being selfish. But the thought of that Jeremy Spike was enough to set her on edge. Then again, the memory of Benjy Finwick managing to transform his mouse into a snuffbox on the first try made her fill with pride.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "My grandfather might have something lined up for me, besides..."

There really was no way around it. The Villa Petrroci always had one woman who was in a matriarchal role. She managed the family while Grandfather Leonardo pulled the puppet strings of the government. Ever since Grandmother Carlota had passed away, Great-Aunt Guilia had been acting Matriarch. But in reality, the line of succession should have gone to Isabella's mother, Antonia. Now, what if Isabella was expected to take on that role? She didn't want to, but if Grandfather told her to, there would be no way to say no. But hadn't there been a feeling for years now, ever since he had found her hiding in his study, that Grandfather was grooming her for something, some role she was expected to one day fill?

"Which subjects will I have to take, if I decided to become a teacher?"

Flitwick beamed at her. "Well, Transfiguration, obviously. Professor McGonagall only accepts Exceeds Expectations or higher into her NEWT classes, but you shouldn't have to worry about that. Charms is suggested, as well as Defense Against the Dark Arts, and a selection of two to three other subjects in order to provide a fairly well-rounded background."

"I'll - I'll talk to Grandfather," Isabella muttered.

When she left the office, Isabella didn't really feel like joining the other students down in the Great Hall for lunch. She instead decided to go upstairs and try and make up on time lost during the meeting with Flitwick. At the top of the winding Ravenclaw Tower staircase, Isabella came to the eagle knocker.

"Back again, I see," it croaked. "Been advised about careers?"

"I sure have," she sighed, leaning against the wall and waiting for it to ask her a riddle.

"Oh, very well," the eagle said when it became clear that Isabella wasn't going to share the contents of her meeting with the knocker. "How is a raven like a writing desk?"

"How should I know?" Isabella asked, exasperated.

"Then you have to wait for someone who does," the eagle told her rudely.

"To lose one's mind when you have it not in the first place is not careless. On the contrary, it show extreme talent," Isabella retorted. The eagle blinked at her, but did not go into his ordinary still, silent state.

"Fine," the knocker said at last. "Go in." With that, the door swung open silently.

Isabella stepped into the common room, which was empty, and walked straight over to the corner where Alex, Morgan, Luna, and her own books were still stacked. Sitting down, she pulled her paper on the Cruciatus Curse towards her and looked it over.

Then she opened her ink bottle and pulled a blank piece of parchment towards her:

"Grandfather,

Today I have a meeting with Professor Flitwick for career counseling. What should I have told him I wanted to do?

Isabella."

Then she crumpled up her old essay and began a new one.


	23. A Gentleman's Game

The Ravenclaw Quidditch Team walked onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium for solid red and gold; the other, a sea of blue and bronze. Many of the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had taken sides too. Amidst all the yelling and clapping, Isabella could distinctly hear the cawing of Luna's famous eagle-topped hat.

Cho stepped up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who was standing ready to release the balls from the crate. To Isabella's amazement, it was not Harry Potter who greeted her there, but Ginny Weasley. Harry was mysteriously absent.

"Captains shake hands," Madam Hooch said. Cho and Ginny, looking like they would rather strangle each other, shook hands roughly and quickly. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle... three... two... one..."

The whistle sounded, Isabella and the others kicked off hard from the muddy ground, and they were away.

"And it's Chambers with the Quaffle," Zacharias Smith said, sounding more subdued since the last match. "Chambers passes it to O'Reagan. Here comes Ravenclaw's first attempt on goal, it's O'Reagan streaking down the pitch and -"

Isabella shot towards Ron Weasley, who bobbed nervously up and down in front of the goal posts. Barely giving a thought to braking, Isabella slammed the ball towards the highest goal and -

"- Weasley saves it," Smith announced. Isabella stared at Ron in shock, having just seen him swoop through the air and seem to casually pluck the speeding ball. Her own face could not have looked more surprised than Ron's.

"Weasley passes the ball to Robbins, and she's off. Robbins dodges a Bludger from Ravenclaw Beater Hewgley and she reverse-passes to Bell." Isabella stayed on Katie Bell's tail, zigging when the older girl zigged and zagging when the Gryffindor zagged. Katie kept shooting nervous looks over her shoulder, as though afraid the Ravenclaw was up to something. Isabella was. Katie nearly slammed into the stands, barely pulling her broom to the side in time and dropping the Quaffle in the process.

Isabella shot down and caught the red ball. She saw one of the Gryffindor Beaters aiming a Bludger at her, but Jason Samuels jumped in front of her and, with an almighty thwack, sent the ball in the opposite direction.

She shot up, cradling the Quaffle in one arm, her eyes set on the goal posts, but aware of German off to her left. Without warning, she passed to him and he reached to catch the ball - then Ginny Weasley dove right past him and he fumbled it. The Quaffle dropped straight into Dean Thomas's hands.

"One does wonder," Smith said, adopting a loud and even more pompous tone, "How Miss Weasley managed to secure a place as substitute for Potter in this game. Could it be that Potter fancies... oh. Gryffindor scores." Isabella might have laughed at the dejected Smith except that she was now attempting to steal the Quaffle back from Demelza Robbins.

"BELLA!" someone roared. Isabella instinctively looked over to her right and saw Nick winding up his bat, aiming for Robbins. But the Gryffindor rolled in midair. She did, however, drop the Quaffle and Isabella dove after it. Katie Bell was also heading for the falling red ball, but Isabella accelerated and snatched it out in front of the Gryffindor's face.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by O'Reagan," Smith said lazily. "And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Bradley - back to O'Reagan and - no, Gryffindor have taken the Quaffle. Dean Thomas, acting as a reserve earlier in the season during the serious and somewhat malignant attacks on various Gryffindor players -"

"Gryffindor scores!" Professor McGonagall barked. Sure enough, Dean had sent the ball spinning into one of the hoops on the Ravenclaw end of the field, Anthony just a second too late.

"Yes, yes," Smith said, sounding impatient and clearly more interested in the mystery of the disabled Gryffindor players. "And Chambers of Ravenclaw takes the Quaffle, nice dive around Bell and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger - Quaffle taken by Gryffindor - that's Gryffindor Katie Bell speeding off towards the goalposts, she shoots and - ten points to Gryffindor! That's twenty-nil to Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor in possession," Smith continued. "Chaser Robbins ducks two Bludgers, Beaters Coote and Peakes flanking her as she speeds toward the goals. O'Reagan tries to run interference - and is given a Bludger for her effort."

Isabella pulled back sharply to avoid the spinning Bludger. This game continued horribly, with Gryffindor making so many goals that Anthony became frustrated, letting even more goals in.

"Gryffindor _still _in possession - what a boring game - Thomas with the Quaffle - passes to Bell - who flies around Bradley - MY GOD! IS THAT EVEN _LEGAL_?" German had slammed into Katie Bell, nearly knocking her off her broom. Madam Hooch blew a sharp note on her whistle.

"Penalty to Gryffindor!" she announced.

"What were you _thinking_?" Isabella demanded swooping down upon German. "Do you want-"

"Never do that again!" Cho snarled, screeching to a halt in front of them. "Do you have any idea how much trouble-"

"Look, they did worse to Peter!" German fumed. "I was just getting back!"

"When the referee was looking, you moron?" Cho spat. Isabella turned away and let her berate German for his stupid and reckless action that had given Gryffindor yet another opportunity to score.

"Bell flies up to take the penalty point," Smith narrated. "She shoots... Goldstein blocks! Ravneclaw Keeper, for the first time this game, catches the Quaffle and passes it to O'Reagan."

Isabella zoomed away with her prize, whipping past the surprised Gryffindors and her even-more shocked teammates. Everyone had been gathered around the Ravenclaw end of the field, once she got past them, her path was clear. The wind whipped past, blocking out all sounds of cheers, pursuit, and commentary. All that was ahead of her was Ronald Weasley. Charging forward, Isabella threw back her arm, pretending to aim for the left hoop. But Ron seemed to realize the ruse and dodged to guard the right goalpost. Without thinking, Isabella tossed to ball and watched it fly...

"RAVENCLAW SCORES!" Smith shouted as the blue and bronze crowd went wild. "O'Reagan feints left only to shoot straight!" German, who apparently had been following behind after he got over the initial shock, gave Isabella a high-five. Cho hugged her in mid-air. It seemed like things were finally looking up for the Ravenclaws.

But they weren't. Bell, Robbins, and Dean managed to score a total of twenty-four goals between them. Isabella and German struggled to put the ball past Ron fewer than thirteen times.

"And it's Bell with the Quaffle, Katie Bell of Gryffindor, doesn't this seem familiar?" Smith drawled. "She flies up the field at top speed - don't know why she bothers, the Ravenclaw team can't even hold onto the Quaffle for more than three seconds - she shoots and, what a surprise, she scores. That's two hundred and fifty to one hundred and thirty. Can Ravenclaw make a come back? It looks doubtful... Gryffindor back in possession of the Quaffle and..."

"My goodness, is that a Blibbering Humdinger?" someone in the crowd below shouted. Everyone turned down to see the speaker. From this height, all Isabella could see was a flapping eagle perched on top of long dirty blonde hair: Luna. Dean Thomas, who had braked in midair to stare down at Luna's finger, pointing away over the Forbidden Forest, held the Quaffle loosely under one arm. Isabella snuck forward silently and stole it. Dean started, his grip instinctively tightening... on empty air.

"Was that a distraction?" Smith asked, coming back to the game along with everyone else. "O'Reagan steals the Quaffle from under Thomas's nose while everyone is looking the other way."

"_Quidditch is a gentleman's game," Roberto instructed his younger cousin. "With rules and regulations not so much spoken as known."_

"_But what about the Bludgers?" she had asked. "Surely no game with such brutal aspects..."_

"_Brutality tampered with civility," Roberto corrected._

"_So, say my opponent is distracted, can I steal the ball from him?"_

_Roberto smiled, "My dear, I said a gentleman's game. Every gentlemen cheats now and then."_

Isabella smirked to herself as she dodged a Bludger and Gryffindor Beater Coote. Roberto had been right, every civilized man (or girl) had occasional lapses.

"It seems that Weasley has seen the Snitch at last!" Smith suddenly broke into Isabella's thoughts. "Yes, she and Chang are neck and neck, racing up and around the pitch - O'Reagan trying to get one last goal in..."

Isabella had indeed bent over her broom and accelerated it. Ron looked distracted, half-watching his sister's chase and half-observing the approaching Ravenclaw.

"Where's Harry?" she shouted as she came closer. Ron blinked, looking stunned, and Isabella slammed the Quaffle right past his ear into the highest goal post. But rather than hearing Smith tallying her score, she heard the Hufflepuff announce:

"Weasley's caught the Snitch! It's four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! Gryffindor wins!"

Sure enough, Ginny Weasley was holding her hand aloft, the tiny golden ball feebly flapping it's wings against her tightly clutched fingers. Ginny's face glowed with delight. The Gryffindors below were going crazy, screaming and jumping up and down. Ginny was soon surrounded in a mid-air group hug.

Cho was already on the ground, crying once again, but this time with more containment. German touched down next to her, his own body suddenly looked like gravity had a stronger hold on him. Jason and Nick landed at the other end of the field, glowering at Zacharias Smith up in the commentator's podium. Anthony stumbled to the ground after them, looking utterly deflated. Isabella landed and slowly walked towards were the Gryffindor team had landed and was slapping each other on the back and punching the air. When they saw the Ravenclaw approach, the Gryffindor team fell silent and watched her march right up to Ginny.

"Well done," Isabella said, extending her hand. Ginny grinned and took it, shaking it firmly.

"Thanks," she said. "Well played." Isabella snorted.

"No. You did well. You deserved to win," she assured the other girl. "Harry'll be thrilled."

"Yes, I expect he'll be pleased," Ginny said, her eyes blazing.

The Ravenclaw team dragged themselves up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower and deposited themselves in the armchairs. The Tower was empty as the rest of Ravenclaw was down in the Great Hall for dinner.

No one said anything. It was very quiet except for the whisper of flames in the fireplace and a slight tapping at one of the windows. The team turned dull eyes towards the offending window and saw Castro pecking the glass. Isabella stood and let the augury in.

The vulture-like bird hopped off the windowsill and onto Isabella's arm. She carried him over to one of the study tables and set him down there. Castro lifted up his leg wearily and allowed her to untie the scroll tied there.

"Dearest Bella,

One day you will know everything. The one excellent thing that can be learned from a lion is that whatever a man intends doing should be done by him with a whole-hearted and strenuous effort.

Grandfather."

Isabella began to laugh very loudly, almost too loudly. Her teammates looked over at her, interest flickering in the eyes of almost all of them. Cho was still fuming, glaring at the fireplace.

"What's up?" German asked.

"Nothing! Nothing, and that's just the point!" Isabella said, her voice cracking slightly. "He doesn't expect me to know what he intends, but he still wants me to perform whatever it is to the best of my abilities!" Suddenly, the door of the Common Room opened and Isabella fell silent, looking towards the door.

Terry Boot stood there, looking very awkward.

"Hey, guys," he mumbled. "I just wanted to let you know, that no one blames you for what happened. If you, you know, feel like coming to dinner."

"Showers first," Cho said, finally rousing herself. Everyone slowly began to move, getting up and walking to their respective dorms. Soon it was only Terry and Isabella standing at opposite ends of the room, looking at each other.

"Bella, I'm sorry-" Terry began, taking a step towards her. Suddenly footsteps ran up the staircase behind him and a head of blonde hair bounced into view behind him.

"Are they coming?" Morgan asked breathlessly. She couldn't see Isabella properly because of the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.

"Yeah, in a bit," Terry muttered, still not breaking eye contact with Isabella.

"Good," Morgan said, then she pulled Terry's head down and kissed him.

Isabella felt her stomach drop and the world faded around her. She was uncomfortably unable to tear her eyes from the scene before her.

Morgan became aware something was wrong by the fact that Terry wasn't kissing with his usual gusto and actually pulled away before long.

"What's wrong?" she pouted, teasingly standing on tip toe and batting her eyelashes. "Anyone would think-"

There was a flurry of running footsteps upon the stone staircase on the far side of the room. Morgan and Terry turned abruptly, but whoever it was was out of sight.

"Who was that?" Morgan asked, but a flutter of wings cut her off. Castro, Isabella's pet bird, flew up the stairway with a silent cry, soaring on his emerald wings. "Oh God, that wasn't - was it?" she asked, looking back at Terry. He continued to stare at the empty stairway, his mouth closed.


	24. OWLs

The castle grounds were gleaming in the sunlight of a cloudless day. A light breeze occasionally tumbled across the lake and over the green lawns. June had arrived, and with it, the OWLs.

Their teachers were no longer setting them homework; lessons were devoted to revising those topics the teachers thought most likely to come up in the exams. The purposeful, feverish atmosphere drove nearly everything but OWLs from Isabella's mind, except for when she happened to see Terry Boot pass by, in which case she felt very hot or very cold and always sick.

Their first examination, Theory of Charms, was scheduled for this morning. None of the fifth-years were in a very talkative mood at breakfast. Morgan (either having not guessed who was standing behind the statue that day, or just pretending nothing had happened) was practicing incantations under her breath while the jam jar in front of her twitched. Alex was rereading about four years worth of Charm notes; and Luna was calmly reading the _Daily Prophet_.

"Three dementor attacks this week," she announced soberly. Everyone stopped what they were doing and went quiet for a moment.

"Do you think they'll ask us to show them our patronuses during Practical Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Morgan whispered, sounding horrified by the prospect.

"Why are you worrying about that when we have Charms next?" Alex snapped, pulling out her copy of _Achievements in Charming_ and checking the pronunciation of a spell.

Everyone went back to studying. Isabella pushed her ham around her plate, having just seen Terry leaving the hall with Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner and thus feeling rather ill. Once breakfast was over, the fifth- and seventh- year students milled around in the Entrance Hall wile the other students went off to lessons. Isabella saw Nick over in one corner, talking to some Gryffindor girls, and waved to him. He grinned and sauntered over.

"OWLs?" he asked their group. "Don't worry, despite common rumor, the examiners aren't actually out to eat your hearts. They really want you to do well. Just relax, that's the best thing."

"Thanks," Isabella said gratefully, feeling a little calmer. "So, you're taking your NEWTs today? What subjects are you taking?"

"Well, Charms, obviously. And Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Potions, and Transifuguration." he listed. "Not so confident about the last two, but they're required by Gringotts, and that's where I want to work. Bill Weasley's offered to put in a good word. Well, I'll leave you little OWLers."

"Bye. Good luck!" Isabella called after the retreating Beater.

"Do you think that's accurate?" Alex asked. "The examiners aren't rude or mean or demanding?"

"I don't know. Guess we'll find out," Isabella shrugged.

At half-past nine, they were called forwards class by class to re-enter the Great Hall. The four house tables had been removed and replaced by rows upon rows of desks, all facing the staff-table at the end of the Hall where Professor McGonagall stood facing them. When they were all seated and quiet she said, "You may begin," and turned over an enormous hour-glass on the desk beside her, on which there were also spare quills, ink bottles, and rolls of parchment.

Two hours later...

"Well, it wasn't too bad, was it?" Alex asked anxiously in the Entrance Hall, still clutching her exam paper.

"I couldn't remember the wand movement for Cheering Charms!" Morgan groaned, rubbing her temples.

"It's the arch to the check," Alex said. "Like this." She demonstrated and Morgan sighed.

"Practical exam this afternoon," she said hopelessly as they sat down to lunch (the four house tables had reappeared for the lunch hour). After lunch, they were trooped off into the small chamber beside the Great Hall, where they were to wait until called for their practical examinations. As small groups of students were called forward in alphabetical order, those left behind muttered incantations and practiced wand movements, occasionally poking each other in the back or eye by mistake.

Morgan's name was called. Trembling, she left the chamber with several other students, including Colin Creevy. Students who were already tested did not return afterwards, so Alex had no way of interrogating Morgan.

Soon Luna had left as well, leaving Isabella to deal with an increasingly agitated Alex on her own.

"You'll be fine, remember when you got a hundred and twelve percent on one of our Charms test?" Isabella reminded her.

"That may have just been luck!" Alex said, on the verge of hyperventilation. "Plus, I bet Flitwick grades way easier than the examiners!"

"Flitwick wouldn't do that to us," Isabella comforted the taller girl. "He wants us to be prepared, remember?" Alex could not respond as Isabella was called away along with those whose last names began with P's.

"You'll be fine," Isabella said quietly as she stood. "Just don't forget to breathe!" She turned and walked into the Great Hall, clutching her wand tightly.

"Professor Marchbanks is free, O'Reagan," squeaked Professor Flitwick, who was standing just inside the door. He pointed her towards a very brash and very deaf examiner who was sitting behind a small table in a far corner.

"O'Reagan, is it?" said Professor Marchbanks, consulting her notes and looking the Italian up and down critically. "I've heard quite a bit about you."

"Oh dear," Isabella said, keeping her voice mild. Professor Marchbanks barked a laugh and waved for her to sit.

"Hm, now if you would be so good as to levitate this wine glass?"

On the whole, Isabella thought it went rather well. She was a little worried about the Color Changing charms, because the rat she was supposed to turn pink became very, very purple. This was much better than poor Morgan, who had apparently forgotten the incantation for Growth Charms, made something up on the spot, and caused her examiner to grow several large, hairy moles.

There was no time to relax that night; they went straight to the common room after dinner and submerged themselves in revision for Transfiguration next day. Isabella was beset upon the entire night by students confirming spells, checking answers, and asking advice so that she could not do any studying herself.

Eventually, Luna calmly climbed onto the top of their study table when three fifth-years were demanding Isabella's attention.

"Excuse me, everyone!" Luna announced in her signature dreamy voice. "But Isabella would like to study, too, so leave her alone. Thank you."

"Grazzi," Isabella said gratefully as everyone moved away. She buried her nose in her book and quickly skimmed through the chapters. All four girls went to bed with their heads buzzing with complex spell models and theories.

The theoretical examination was a breeze for Isabella, but she could tell that Morgan and Alex were struggling a little. But then, Alex always tried to write several paragraphs to answer each question. Isabella was positive she had managed to impress Professor Tofty, an elderly, balding man, during her practical.

"Oh, well done!" the little old man cheered when she managed to perfectly Vanish the entirety of her badger. "Very good indeed! Well, I think that's all, O'Reagan... unless..." He leaned forwards a little. "I heard, from my dear friend Madam Shertz who works in the Improper Use of Magic Office, that you are a registered animagus? For a bonus point...?"

Isabella smiled, placed her wand on the desk and stood up. Striding to a fairly empty space in the room, she began to notice a lot of people looking at her, including Professor McGonagall who was standing near the doors into the Entrance Hall.

Isabella turned and faced Professor Tofty, who was looking very excited indeed. Everyone gasped as she assumed her second form. The process was like breathing to her by now, she just slipped back into the golden column of fire and emerged on the other side, stronger, wilder, braver.

There was silence in the Great Hall. Then Professor Tofty began to clap his knotted hands enthusiastically. There was a deafening sound as everyone joined in, students standing up to get a better look and chattering excitedly among themselves. At first startled by the magnified sound, Isabella forced herself to sit calmly and allow Professors Tofty, Marchbanks, and a plump looking witch to examine her pale paw and trace the lines on her forehead and back. When they stepped back, Isabella changed again and they shook her hand, congratulated and complimented her, and patted her on the back.

"Excellent!" Professor Tofty beamed. "Very impressive! You may go, now, Miss O'Reagan!"

As Isabella passed Professor McGonagall beside the door, their eyes met. Professor McGonagall gave her an approving nod and Isabella felt as though she had been filled with helium just to see that pride in her teacher's face.

They had their Herbolobgy exam on Wednesday (Isabella felt reasonably confident she had at least passed); and then, on Thursday, Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Isabella, Alex, Morgan, and Luna felt sure they had done well on the written exam, having simply put down everything they had learned in the DA last year. Isabella was doing all right in the practical exam, successfully banishing a Boggart. Even her instructor, the plump witch whose name was Professor Laurie, seemed a little hallow-eyed after seeing several of Isabella's family members lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall.

"Um, excuse me," Professor Laurie squeaked, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. "If there's... ahem... nothing else you'd care to show-"

"Actually, there is one more thing," Isabella said, her voice a little hoarse.

"Yes, dear?"

"Well, I can cast a patronus..." she said. "I know it's a little advanced for this level..."

"No, that's quite all right," Professor Laurie said, a little too kindly, "You may try and demonstrate."

Isabella felt a little affronted by that, so she searched her memories for a really happy memory. Ale's visit to her on her birthday popped into her head:

"_Exptecto patronum!_"

Her silver lion, huge and magnificent, burst from the end of her wand and bounded to the center of the Hall. All of the examiners turned around to watch as it threw back it's head and roared, then dissolved into silver mist. Professor Laurie jumped up and down in her seat, clapping so hard Isabella wondered if her hands must hurt.

"Stunning! Just beautiful," she squealed with delight. "Especially after the Boggart! Stupendous! Well, you may go, Miss O'Reagan."

The next day was Ancient Runes, so most of the Ravenclaw fifth-years were a little more talkative in the Common Room, not having anything to study for. Isabella, Alex, and Luna retreated to their dormitory to quiz each other on vocabulary. Morgan stayed down below with Terry, who looked very guilty.

"And _ehwaz_?" Luna asked, holding up the flashcard.

"Defense?" Alex guessed.

"No, partnership," Isabella corrected. "_Eihwaz_ is defense." When Luna nodded, Isabella rewarded herself with a gummy worm.

"Right. Now Annwn, or Annwfn," Luna held up another flashcard.

"The Otherworld," Alex said. "In contemporary terms, Avalon."

"Correct," Luna nodded, putting the flashcard in the back. She paused and glanced at Isabella, who was twirling a gummy worm around her finger and staring off into space.

"Did a wrackspurt come in?" Luna asked with sincere concern.

"What? Oh, I don't know," Isabella said, coming back to the present. She had just been imagining what Morgan and Terry were doing down in the common room...

"Hm," Luna said. "One must have." She then proceeded to flap her hands about and accidentally slapped Isabella's head.

"You know what, I think that did it," Isabella said, rubbing her head. "What's the next word?"

Since Runes only required a written test, the three girls at least got Friday afternoon off. They all went down to the lake and spent the afternoon there, skipping stones and trying to forget that the Potions exam was Monday. But with Saturday and Sunday cam the need to revise for Potions.

Isabella found the written paper difficult, having failed to remember all of the properties of moonstones, but the afternoon practical was better. She had always found Potions very easy and requiring very little thought in practice, simply following directions exactly. Of course, Morgan's Potions turned out perfectly and her examiner praised her. Meanwhile, three tables over, Colin Creevy somehow managed to make his slime-like concoction explode, causing the entire exam to stop for a few minutes while the mess was cleared up.

With Tuesday came Care of Magical Creatures, which took place in the Forbidden Forest. They were required to choose from a selection of foods the diet of a Jarvey (a large, ferret-like creature that eats gnomes, moles, rats and voles and whom Isabella called "adorabile" and nursed a deep desire to own); to correctly identify a Bundimun among a meter-by-meter area of moss (when at rest, the creature was impossible to distinguish from its surroundings, but when startled it would scuttle to the side); and to disable a Plimpy (all you had to do was tie the strange fish's abnormally long legs so that it floated away, quite helpless).

The Astronomy theory paper on Wednesday morning went well enough. But when it got to the question on Saturn's six oblate moons, all she could remember was the anagram Luna had come up to memorize them, but not the actual names of the planet.

"Man-eating turtles die really terribly indigo," she muttered to herself. It was utter nonsense, but at least it didn't mention Crumpled-Horn Snorkaks. In desperation, Isabella listed the first letter of each word.

"Turtles: that's Tethys, I think," she thought, writing out the name beside the 'T'. "And terrible is Titan, unless it's the other way around. 'R' is for Rhea and Man-eating... no, it's Man *space* eating... I still can't remember what the name's are. Man-eating turtles... indigo..."

"And time's... up!" Professor Marchbanks announced. Isabella sighed and turned her paper over. As they filed out of the Great Hall so that the House tables could be set up for lunch and their exam papers collected, Isabella found Luna, Morgan, and Alex in a corner.

"How'd it go?" Alex asked. "I think I did all right. I didn't get to all 63 moons of Jupiter, though, I ran out of time..."

"I thought question 27 only asked for the seven largest of Jupiter's moons!" Morgan groaned, looking upset.

"Well, yes, it did, but I thought..." Alex shrugged.

"At least you remembered the moons," Isabella sighed. "All I could think of was man-eating turtles dying." Morgan started to laugh and even Luna giggled.

"Me too!" Morgan gasped at last, high-fiving Isabella.

Lunch had a little bit more cheerful of an atmosphere as the end of exams was now in sight, just three more tests to go. Alex quizzed Isabella over Arithmancy while Morgan bent over her book on Divination and Luna, who had no test that afternoon, hummed to herself.

"Do you seriously have to study anything in that class?" Isabella asked after a while, looking over Morgan's shoulder and reading the diagram's on tea leaves. "What does this one mean?" she asked, pointing towards one blob among many.

"Childhood suffering," Morgan sighed. She looked confused, bent lower over her book, squinting at the caption under the image. "Oh wait, no, that's trials and suffering."

"No, that's rubbish," Alex said. "Isabella, recite the numerical table for finding the logarithmic function of the cross-matrix incantation."

"Uh, two hundred-seventy-two, five hundred-fourteen, one thousand-six-hundred-thirty-six..."

The test passed excruciatingly slow. Isabella looked up from her slide-ruler, compass, and diagram of the exponential flow of power of the summoning charm and saw that only an hour had passed. She felt very tired and was not at all looking forward to staying up half the night taking her Astronomy exam.

During dinner, Isabella looked around surreptitiously, then rapped beneath the table and, pretending to bend over her star chart, whispered, "Coffee." To her delight, a steaming mug of the black beverage appeared on the table. She sipped it gratefully and by the time they had to report to the Astronomy Tower, felt more energized.

It was a perfect night for stargazing, no annoying clouds or strong winds that threatened to blow away your papers. It was fairly warm and the castle-grounds below were bathed in silver starlight.

Isabella set up her telescope and, when Professor Marchbanks gave the word, proceeded to fill in the blank star-chart they had been issued.

Professor Marchbanks and Laurie strolled among them, watching as they entered the precise position of the stars and planets they were observing. All was quiet except for the rustle of parchment, the occasional creak of a telescope as it was adjusted on its stand, and the scribbling of many quills.

Isabella filled out the moon first. This was the hardest of the features in the sky, as measurements and calculations had to be taken of it's diameter and phase, but Isabella liked to use it as a reference point for the rest of her star chart. She then moved on to plotting the stars in the Cygnus constellation. Using the moon as a guide, she marked Mars, the constellation Hercules, Neptune, Mercury, and several other constellations, successfully completing eighty-percent of the chart before Professor Marchbanks dismissed them.

Falling into bed, Isabella was grateful she could sleep in late as their History of Magic exam was not until tomorrow afternoon.

The fifth-years entered the Great Hall at two-o'clock and took their places in front of their face-down examinations papers. Isabella felt sleepy, the coffee she had consumed late in the morning had worn off.

"Turn over your papers," said Professor Tofty from the front of the Hall, flicking over the giant-hourglass. "You may begin."

Three hours later, the fifth-years all heaved a big sigh of relief as the last of their OWL examinations were collected. Isabella sat back and rubbed her tired eyes. All she wanted to do was sleep, and it seemed all anyone else wanted to do was party. Excusing herself, she slipped up to Ravenclaw Tower.

"The man with the thousand voices talks perfectly loud. Why does no one hear him?" the eagle knocker asked. Isabella, feeling very tired with questions, leant back against the wall, her brain feeling fuzzy.

"No one listens?" she suggested.

"Correct!" the eagle announced and the door swung open.

AN: Yes, that was a Beatles reference. You're welcome.


	25. Patrol Corridors

"Bella!" a whispered voice hissed. Someone prodded her back and breathed her name again. It had been two days since the end of their exams, and Isabella had enjoyed her time free of revision and homework, with only the occasional Transfiguration lesson to teach, by playing Quidditch and sleeping late. Now someone was shaking her awake.

"Wha' is it?" she moaned, rolling on to her back. Something warm, almost hot, was pressed into her hand. Isabella rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand and she sat up.

"Luna?" she asked, softly, seeing the silhouette of the girl. "What time is it?"

"Eleven o'clock," the other girl whispered back. "Look! _Lumnos!_" The tip of Luna's wand lit, illuminating her pale face. She was fully dressed and looked wide awake. When her friend gestured to the object in Isabella's hand, the Italian lifted it up and examined it. It was a fat, golden Galleon. But on the side, where the serial numbers should have been, was the phrase, "_Patrol Corridors. 06/07/96._"

"Hang on, this is a DA coin," Isabella said. "What's going on?"

"Harry and Dumbledore have gone on some sort of mission," Luna briefed her quickly. "But Harry thinks Death Eaters might try and get into the school tonight."

"Aren't the Aurors patrolling?" Isabella asked.

"Yes, but Harry thinks they need all the help they can get." Isabella rolled her eyes and threw off her blanket.

"Well, if _Harry_ thinks so," she said, picking up a pair of jeans. She could not help but think of the last catastrophic adventure she had been subjected to because "Harry thought something was up". Something had been up, a trap designed by Voldemort that led Harry and his friends straight into the Death Eater's arms. Isabella had almost died. Or she had died. She never did get that straight.

"You're coming?" Luna asked, hovering slightly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she replied, tying her hair out of her face and snatching up her wand.

"Great!" the other girl whispered, delighted. "But... oh dear..."

"What now?" Isabella asked already feeling her way towards the door, hesitant of lighting her wand and waking up Morgan and Alex.

"Harry left his Felix Felicis, that's Liquid Luck, you know, but there was only enough for each of us, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and I to have one drop and... there isn't anymore."

Isabella paused, halfway out of the door. "Well, I was going to get myself into the mess without any anyway, so it's no loss," she shrugged. "Come on, where do we go?"

They met up with the Gryffindors outside the dark, empty library. Ron was examining some parchment while Hermione held her wand high in the air to cast light over all of them. They all looked down the dark corridor when they heard the sound of footsteps

"Who's there?" Ron said, nervously fumbling with his wand and pointing it into the dark.

"'Who's there?'," Isabella repeated scathingly (she really hated being woken up). "Really threatening, Ronald. If I was a Death Eater I'd be trembling in my shoes." The Gryffindors' faces filled with relief as she and Luna stepped into the light.

"So what's up? Luna only had time to give me the bare minimum," Isabella asked.

"Well, Harry seems to have gotten it in his head that Malfoy is a Death Eater," Ginny began.

"Malfoy? But he's our age!" Isabella protested. Hermione made a shushing movement.

"We know, but Harry thinks he's got proof that Malfoy is assigned to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts," she said, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

"Okay. That actually makes sense," Isabella nodded slowly. "And the parchment?"

"A map of the school," Ron explained. "It shows everyone, everywhere. Except the Room of Requirement." Isabella glanced at the paper. A few dots labeled with names like "Nymphadora Tonks", "Remus John Lupin", "William Arthur Weasley", and "Minerva McGonagall" were moving up and down various corridors. A mass of dots and names, too close together to read clearly, were gathered outside the room marked "Library".

"Fine, magical map, villainous plot," Isabella said. "Now, what roles are we playing?"

"I reckon Hermione and I keep on eye on the Room of Requirement, since that's the most likely break-in point," Ron said. "Ginny and Neville can made sure no one comes through the Entrance Hall. You two can keep an eye on Snape's office."

"Reasons this plan is stupid number one: if Malfoy and an entire troop of Death Eaters pour out of the Room of Requirement, how are just you and Hermione going to hold them off? Reason number two: no way the Death Eaters are going to waltz in through the front doors," she said critically. "Here's what we're going to do. Ginny, Neville, and Ron are going to take the Room of Requirement. That way if the Death Eaters come, two can duel while the other gets help. Hermione can watch Snape on her own, right?" Hermione nodded. "Right, that leaves Luna and I free to watch one of those secret passages. One-eyed witch?" Luna shrugged. "Everyone good?"

They all nodded. Ron took the enchanted map and disappeared with Ginny and Neville, heading up towards the seventh floor. Hermione, looking fairly nervous, tip-toed down to the dungeons by herself. Isabella grabbed Luna's hand and led her down to the third floor where the statue of the wizened witch was located.

"I've never known this was a secret passageway before," Luna said quietly, putting her ear to the hump of the witch and listening.

"You need to get out of Ravenclaw Tower more often," Isabella said, slapping her cheeks lightly in an attempt to wake up.

About an hour passed with nothing out of the ordinary. The chill night air woke Isabella up a little more and she got a little jumpy. Occasionally distant footsteps whispered by, but no sound of an uproar.

"I think Harry might have been wrong," Luna whispered at last. "Nothing seems to be-"

There was a bang overhead. Isabella and Luna whipped their wands up and looked at the ceiling.

"That sounded like the seventh floor!" Isabella whispered. "Come on!" She pelted down the hallway and raced up the staircase, Luna close behind. Following the sound of shouting, Isabella led Luna up four flights of stairs, keeping her wand at the ready.

"Someone's coming!" Luna hissed. Isabella dove behind a coat of armor and watched the person rush past. Halfway down the stairway, the newcomer looked over his shoulder and Isabella recognized one of the Death Eaters from the fight at the Department of Mysteries.

"_Stupefy!_" she and Luna yelled together. The Death Eater went rigid as the twin jets of red light hit him, then he toppled down the stairs.

"We're getting close!" Isabella said, rushing out from behind the armor and taking the remaining stairs two at a time.

People filled the dimly light corridor. Jets of light and spells were traded between them. Ron, Ginny, and Neville were here already, along with several members of the Order of the Phoenix who were dueling with the Death Eaters. As Isabella watched, one of the Death Eaters broke away and ran up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower. Neville, who was dueling Malfoy just in front of the stairs, was hit and thrown to the floor.

"Neville!" Isabella screamed. Several people glanced over at her. One of the Death Eaters shot a curse at Luna, but Isabella cast a Shield Charm around her friend.

Luna pointed her wand at the Death Eater who had attacked her and shouted, "_Impedimenta!_" The man was thrown off his feet with a roar of pain. Isabella ducked behind the fighting couples and made her way to Neville. Crouching beside him, she lifted his head.

"Neville! Are you okay?" she said, shaking him. Luna had disappeared, hopefully joining the fight.

"Bella?" Neville asked shakily.

"Thank God!" Isabella said, relieved.

"Go 'way. You fight," Neville said, waving her off. She stood, just in time, for a lumpy female Death Eater was bearing down upon her and Neville.

"_Crucio!_" the woman shouted. Isabella leapt aside, then realized she had left Neville unprotected.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Isabella shouted, stepping in front of Neville. The spell was deflected and ricocheted off one of the paintings.

"_Avada-_"

"_Avis_ _opugno_!" Isabella shouted. Tiny birds popped into existence and shot at the woman like little feathery darts. She squealed with pain at the birds began to tear at her face with beak and claw. The Death Eater retreated, leaving Isabella a full view of the battle.

There was a big, blonde Death Eater shooting curses randomly. He shot one at the ceiling and Isabella barely had time to throw her arms over her head as half the ceiling came tumbling down on top of her. Coughing from the dust, Isabella tried to prepare herself in case one of her enemies took notice of her momentary weakness.

"_Crucio_!" She had not been able to ready herself. Still blinded by the dust, Isabella screamed and fell to the ground, writhing. Suddenly the pain stopped and there was a loud bang. Someone had engaged her tormentor in a duel, leaving her free.

Panting, Isabella pulled herself upright using the wall for support. A tall man with matted gray hair and whiskers wearing robes too small for him drew her attention. He did not seem to have a wand, but attacked with his long yellowish fingernails and pointed teeth. The stranger attacked a young man with red hair, who was already battling another Death Eater. Isabella felt her stomach clench as she thought of Fred and George.

"No..." she chocked, seeing one of the twins, she couldn't tell which from the back, go down under the stranger with a strangled scream. "No!" And without thinking she dropped her wand and fell to all fours.


	26. Battle of the Astronomy Tower

A roar filled the battle, startling everyone and causing them to lose concentration. Lupin fired a curse at the brutal-faced Death Eater he was fighting, but his opponent dodged in time and shot a killing curse at him. The jet of green light narrowly missed; Lupin could feel the breeze of it as it passed. It flew across the room and struck Gibbon, the Death Eater returning from the tower.

Suddenly, something huge and golden pushed past Lupin, making him stumble slightly. A lioness had joined the fight. She was long and lean, with sharp curving claws and snarling teeth. And she had her eyes set on Fenrir Greyback.

With a vicious growl, the lioness pounced upon Greyback from behind, pulling him off of Bill Weasley. Fenrir wailed in pain as her claws dug deep into his shoulders, ripping through his robes and drawing blood in thick welts.

Breaking away, Greyback keened like an animal as he backed away. The lioness didn't try to follow, but rather planted herself in front of Bill, growling menacingly.

Someone darted up the stairs. The Malfoy boy, scampering out of sight. Lupin started to follow, but the opponent he had almost forgotten about shot a curse at him, sending him reeling away. He tripped and nearly fell onto the lioness. She whipped her head towards him and snarled, her long teeth exposed and her whiskers bristling. The lioness abruptly stopped however, and twitched her tail as thought signaling it was all right for him to come closer.

The lioness swiped her paw at a Death Eater who got too close, slashing his robes but not making contact with skin. Nevertheless, the Death Eater yelped and skipped away.

Without warning, several of the enemy made a run for the stairs. The two Carrows, Grayback, and Lupin's opponent. Several Order members rushed after. But Neville had staggered to his feet and charged the doorway with a yell. He was thrown back bodily, hit the far wall, and collapsed.

"They've blocked the stairs!" Tonks shouted. "_Reducto_! _REDUCTO_!" But they still couldn't push through, nor did they have time to. The huge blonde one was still firing curses everywhere, as though he was such a poor aim he just intended to fire as many shots as he had as quickly as he could.

One of the spells, a purple stream of fire, bounced off the window, shattering it, and streaked towards the lioness. She picked up a paw just in time and snarled as the fiery spell singed her fur.

"Bella!" several of the students shouted. _Bella?_ Lupin thought in disbelief. _The lion is Bella O'Reagan?_ Whoever it was, she was now nudging Bill worriedly, gently turning him over as everyone else continued to fight the remaining Death Eaters.

Suddenly Snape, his black robes billowing out behind him making him look more than ever like an over-grown bat, rushed up the marble staircase. Lupin felt himself go a little limp with relief.

Lupin watched as Snape ran straight through the cursed barrier on the stairs as though it wasn't there. Thinking Shape must have disabled the jinx somehow, Lupin rushed forward, and was thrown backwards by the force of the spell. He hit the stone floor and felt his head crack. His hands felt like they had little cuts in them, as though he had fallen on broken glass.

Something warm hovered over him and something rough scratched his forehead. He opened his eyes and his vision was blurred. But the prod came again, slightly more insistent this time. His vision blurred even more, then cleared. The lioness was regarding him, evidently concerned, her golden eyes begging for him to get up. She had been nudging him with her paws.

Lupin tried to stand, nearly fell, and grabbed the lioness's fur. She didn't seem to mind, but rather patiently helped him to stand. Then the blonde Death Eater fired a curse that sent yet another part of the ceiling caving in.

"I think the door's free!" Tonks shouted. Everyone hurried forward, even the lioness, but Snape and Malfoy rushed down the stairs. _Good, Snape got Malfoy out_, Lupin thought, relieved and slightly ashamed because he didn't think about the boy up there, alone with all those Death Eaters.

And then all those Death Eaters came thundering down the stairs. Lupin shot a spell at Amycus, who retaliated and the two of them moved aside, exchanging hexes, spells, and curses. Fenrir barely had time to clear the stair before the lioness roared again. The werewolf, looking terrified, leapt away from her. This time she gave chase, weaving after him through the dueling pairs.

"It's over. It's time to go!" someone shouted. Just as he said that, Lupin say Harry push his way between Professor McGonagall and Tonks, who were back to back battling a Death Eater each. Fenrir, still fleeing the vengeful lioness, launched himself at Harry.

"Harry!" Lupin shouted, but Amycus shot a spell at him that felt like a red-hot whip across his arm. Clutching his arm, Lupin countered, but Amycus broke away. Turning back around, Lupin saw Fenrir lying on the floor and Harry running to Ginny's aid as Amycus turned on her instead.

The Death Eaters began to break away in ones and twos. Amycus and Alecto running together, arms over their heads; the blonde one, holding his face in pain; and the brutal-faced man limping after. Harry was running after them.

"Harry, no! Come back!" Lupin shouted, but the boy either wouldn't obey or couldn't hear.

The lioness limped out of the crowd. Grayback seemed to have landed at least one blow, and the cat's shoulder was bleeding heavily.

"I think... I think it's over," McGonagall panted. "Everyone, report to the Hospital Wing." Everyone nodded mutely. "I'm going to make sure the students are safe and in bed." Sure enough, there was a distant rumble of voices below as thought the entire student body was awake and out of their dormitories. McGonagall left, leaving the rest of them to make their way to the Hospital Wing.

Bill was the worst, the long gashes across his face bleeding sluggishly and he seemed to have passed out from the pain. Neville needed to be carried, as well, having not only been struck by the door-barricade curse but also having had the ceiling collapse upon him. Everyone else sported several minor injuries.

They staggered, slowly, supporting one another, to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey came halfway to meet them and help Levitate Bill's body onto a bed. Neville was also placed on a bed near the door, and Flitwick was there too. Apparently he had fainted and hit his head when he had gone to warn Snape of the attack.

_Where is Snape?_ Lupin wondered wearily.

The lioness limped to the middle of the ward and closed her eyes, looking thoroughly tired. She began to shift, growing taller and standing upright until Isabella O'Reagan stood there. She swayed for a moment, and Lupin could the blood already starting to stain her t-shirt's sleeve.

Luna came over silently and took Isabella's hand, gently leading her to a bed. Madam Pomfrey dithered, unsure who to tend to first.

"I can help," Luna offered quietly. Madam Pomfrey nodded and pulled out a bottle of greenish liquid. She poured some on a cloth and gave it to Luna, who rolled Isabella's sleeve up and began to dab at the wound there. Isabella hissed in pain and for a second Lupin was reminded of her second form.

"Will he be all right?" Isabella asked, nodding at Bill. Madam Pomfrey was passing her wand along Bill's wounds, muttering to herself. "I thought... I thought he might be one of them... the twins," Isabella said weakly.

"He's their older brother," Hermione explained softly.

"I don't think there's much I can do," Madam Pomfrey admitted. "He'll live, but he won't look the same anymore."

"Is Neville going to be okay?" Isabella asked, looking over her shoulder. Madam Pomfrey lifted one of the boy's eyelids and nodded.

"Yes, he and Professor Flitwick will be just fine," she nodded.

"What about Bella's arm?" Luna asked. Madam Pomfrey took the cloth from Luna and examined Isabella's arm.

"Hm, well, it should heal," she said. "It may always hurt a little. And you'll always have that scar."

"War wound," Isabella grinned, but her smile faded away. "At least Harry and I will be able to compare scars."

"Does anyone know where Harry went?" Hermione asked worriedly. They all shook their heads.

"Well, what about Ginny?" Luna asked.

"Ginny's not here?" Ron asked, looking startled out of his daze.

"No," Luna said as everyone looked around.


	27. Eagles and Funerals

After Ginny and Harry had returned to the Hospital Wing and the whole story of the night had been told, Isabella and Luna left. They walked back to Ravenclaw Tower in silence, meeting no one in the hallways, not even Peeves.

"Is it true?" the eagle knocker asked as they approached him. "It is really true? Dumbledore - dead?"

"Yes," Isabella said. The eagle said nothing, but returned to his usual frozen state. There was a clicking noise as the door unlocked. Isabella wondered vaguely if his question counted as the riddle-password.

"What was that?" Luna asked quietly.

"What?"

"You said 'yes'," Luna explained, looking at Isabella oddly. "But no one said anything."

"The eagle..." Isabella stared at Luna, then glanced at the eagle knocker. "Didn't you hear him?"

"Bella, the eagle only talks when it asks you a riddle," Luna said, shaking her head.

"No, he talks more... doesn't he?" Isabella asked. Her arm hurt terribly, clouding her thoughts with pain. Was she imagining the eagle? But hadn't the annoying bird asked her questions, had had conversation with her all five years?

Isabella had not been expecting the common room to be full of Ravenclaws. The room fell silent as she and Luna entered. Some students were standing on Rowena's pedestal, peering over their classmate's heads. Little Benjy Fenwick appeared to be standing on top of a table. Alex and Morgan were at the front of the crowd. When they saw Isabella's face, they seemed to understand immediately.

"Right everyone! Bed, now!" Alex thundered. Gradually, the crowd began to disperse, muttering to each other and casting looks at Isabella's blood-stained shirt-sleeve.

All lessons were suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students were hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of days. To her surprise, Isabella was not one of these. Her father had instead sent a message that her was coming to the funeral, but her mother couldn't make it.

"_I'm afraid it's England's grief, really," _her father had written. _"Your mother suspects a large number of people will want to attend, and as she never knew Dumbledore personally..."_

Her mother had been right. Witches and wizards were pouring into Hogsmede for the funeral. Ministry officials were being accommodated within the castle.

There were articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about the search for Snape, but of course there was no progress on that front. Isabella was not surprised, guessing that Snape had probably fled straight into his master's arms.

The next morning, Isabella rose early and packed; the Hogwarts Express was leaving an hour after the funeral. Downstairs, she found the mood in the Great Hall subdued. Everybody was wearing their dress robes except for Isabella. She was wearing a black dress sent to her for the occasion by Great-Aunt Guilia. Apparently Tina and Rosina had picked it out in Milan, so she supposed it must be the height of fashion. It was black, close fitting, with a sleeve of black roses that covered her scarred shoulder.

The throne-like chair in the middle of the staff-table was empty, as was Hagrid's chair, but Snape's place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour.

Just before breakfast ended, Isabella excused herself and slipped out of the Great Hall. Her father had told her she'd best come and meet him on the lawn. The other students would be sitting together, but her father had told her she needn't worry about that. As she stepped onto the front steps, she realized why.

Leonardo Petrroci cut an impressive figure in his somber black suit. Indeed, despite the heavy flow of people heading for the rows upon rows of chair set out by the Black Lake, a calm space was left around the Italian patriarch and his son-in-law.

"Isabella," her grandfather nodded as she joined them. "You look well."

"Thank you," she said, still a little stunned to see him here. He offered her his arm and she took it, looking to her father. Patrick O'Reagan was already crying a little, but he smiled at her and nodded. She led the way to the Lake and found them three seats close to the aisle that ran between the hundred upon hundreds of chair. There was a marble table standing at the front, all the chairs facing it. It was a beautiful summer's day.

An extraordinary assortment of people were settling into the front half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. Most Isabella did not recognize, but a few she did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt; Mad-Eye Moody; Tonks, her hair a violent shade of pink; Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, each of whom gave Isabella a sad smile.

Then there was Madam Maxime, who took up two and half chairs on her own; Jean Pierre, the boy who at age seventeen had kindly invited Isabella, only thirteen-years-old at the time, to the Yule Ball because they were both feeling homesick for their countries and families; Mr. Barnabus Cuffe and Mr. Dirk Cresswell; and some people Isabella merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright light, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air.

Then the doors of the castle opened and the rest of the students filed out. Professor Slughorn, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver, led the Slytherins. Professor Sprout, amazingly clean and tidy, without a patch on her hat, led the Hufflepuff column and Professor Flitwick, completely cured, led the Ravenclaws. Isabella saw Luna, Morgan, Alex, Terry, Anthony, German, and Nick among them; Peter and Cho had been taken home over the past week. Professor McGonagall was once again at the head of the Gryffindor House.

The students crossed the lawn and filed into their chairs. People were whispering to each other and the crowd continued to swell. Cornelius Fudge, looking perfectly miserable, walked past them. Rita Skeeter was seated a few rows ahead as was, to Isabella's fury, Umbridge. She felt a grim satisfaction to see the former Headmistress start and scurry away from Firenze, who was standing near the water.

Isabella heard strange, otherworldly music begin to play. She realized, with a start, that a chorus of merpeople were inches below the surface of the clear, green sunlit lake. Their pallid faces rippled and their purplish hair flowed all around them. Although she could not understand their language, the music spoke very clearly of loss and of despair.

Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Isabella knew to be Dumbledore's body. For the first time, Isabella felt truly struck down with grief. Her father, next to her, had grown very pale and tears traced their way down his cheeks. Even her grandfather had bowed his head.

"La sua vita era delicata; e gli elementi Così misto in lui, quella natura ha potuto levarsi in piedi in su e dice a tutto il mondo, Questo era un uomo!" (_His life was gentle; and the elements so mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, and say to all the world, This was a Man!_) he said. Isabella felt the first tear trace it's way down her cheek. Nothing said, no ceremony performed, could say more about Dumbledore to her.

AN: And so, my dear readers, we reach another end. But every end is simply another beginning... Keep an eye out for "The Lionheart", the final installment in the Isabella Petrroci O'Reagan series.


End file.
